


simplify

by we_re_always_alright



Series: superposition [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Family Issues, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Legal Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_re_always_alright/pseuds/we_re_always_alright
Summary: For what started in a furniture store went on a frankly meandering path from A-B but continued in a courtroom.(Or, where Draco MalfoyandHarry Potter realize the world is far bigger than London and look to gain something even more permanent than what they have.Hopefully. Draco isn’t convinced.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: superposition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711375
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who’s back.
> 
> This story takes place a few years-ish after part one. It also retcons everything that Jo wrote on US magical history into something more legible and representative of actual US history, which then meant I had to go intoIrish wizard history, UK case law, legal rules and education regulations and fleshes out a far more comprehensive world of magic rather than just ‘everyone is like the UK in every aspect’. Also I’ve seen every season of SVU like four times so I think that makes me 'qualified' to write a legal fic about a system that has no basis in reality.
> 
> Don’t worry, Draco will still keep up his inner dialogue, as desired.

> “You must live life with the full knowledge that your actions will remain. We are creatures of consequence.” — Zadie Smith

  


Draco Malfoy didn’t believe in non-magic curses; that is, the non-magic ones that Pansy would foretell of in Paris, her dark eyes rimmed in gold and black eyeliner. He and Harry had visited her for a short jaunt and after she had stopped trying to figure out what joke he’d been playing on her, she’d shown them around to all the greatest dingy bars and restaurants and spoke the most wonderfully dirty French and let them live anonymously a while. It was nice. 

  


But the point remained: while Draco didn’t believe in curses, it didn’t mean he wasn’t, _privately_ , above being _concerned_ about curses. The fact of the matter was, that things with Harry had been going well. Far better than two former school enemies, turned war veterans, and then maladjusted adults, turned semi-functioning and slowly strengthening couple ought to be. 

  


So when the “work trip” had come up, to clear a series of properties in Northern Ireland that needed Draco (currently the best dark magic curse breaker of the firm and therefore the country by process of elimination and disregard for Gringrotts, as Bill Weasley liked to remind him at Sunday dinner) to take care of clearing these places, where there was a wide variety of foods to try and less people that cared who he was, there wasn’t much he to do to convince Harry otherwise. They were going to Northern Ireland. 

  


It wasn’t as if Draco _would_ have stopped him, or could have as he was just as enamored as Harry was with him, as strange as it was. It was more the principle of it. Yes, of course, all of Harry’s many friends knew and were slowly warming up to the idea of them, to the point where even Ginerva—Ginny was having polite conversations with him, and he’d been round to meet Teddy as Teddy instead of Theodore and spend the afternoon, and he was sure he now knew every auror in the department when he would pop in to meet Harry and even his mother has said: “My darling Draco, you could do far worse.” And though Harry had looked offended on his behalf Draco _preened_ , feeling relived and shaken at once. And then Harry was slowly becoming a common fixture around closing time at the firm, ready to whisk Draco off to dinner or out to a muggle movie or a book would arrive by post over lunch with a note (“Saw this and thought of you. Can’t wait to get home. - H”) that he most certainly did _not_ store in his desk in a locked and warded drawer and Blaise had told him to bring “ _Your_ Harry around for the firm’s Christmas party” and now it was becoming habit to bring Harry round for tea every now and then and he was getting along with Mother like a house on fire and it was too good. Far too good for the likes of him. But he’d be damned thrice and likely disowned if he didn’t take it while he could. 

  


Which is how he found himself and Harry walking, as they often did in London, side by side to find a nice spot for lunch in Belfast. It was lovely out— sunny and shining and Harry had on ridiculous sunglasses—muggles could make them with the glasses bits in them now—that only made Draco laugh any time he turned to him with that giddy grin. The street was packed with shoppers: families leaving church for lunch, families doing shopping, tourists looking lost, students enjoying the sunshine with and without their books in tow and the two of them, in the thick of it all. 

  


It had been almost four years since Draco had first seen Harry in Patel’s Emporium. In that time, Harry had asked him to move in with him and they’d had at least four fights about money or rent. But sometimes, when they were at the pub after a long day, snipping at each other and slowly working their way to another shouting match, Draco or Harry would stutter to a stop and look at one another and realize how far they’d come and how much they preferred being _together_ above all else and the fight would be dropped. 

  


It was halcyon, to say the least, before the trial had happened.

  


* * *

  


Hermione was tucked up on the couch a month and a half later, a pen holding together her bushy, natural hair and a glass of red wine in her hand, a stack of notes on her lap. It was weird to think that over the years they’d become friends and that it didn’t feel as odd as it should anymore that Draco Malfoy was here sitting on the squidgy loveseat of the Weasley-Granger household while Ron passed out glasses to both Harry and himself before sitting next to his wife and readjusting the piles of papers on the low, dinged coffee table. 

  


“Alright,” she took a sip of wine before leaning back in the seat and rubbing her temples, rich umber skin shining in the firelight, “So here’s the issue.” The witch chewed her words carefully.

  


“How bad is it?”

  


“Well,” She said with a half of smile that made Draco’s stomach drop, “It’s not great.” 

  


They were utterly fucked, is what she wouldn’t say.

  


* * *

  


Here’s how they reached that point. Neither Draco or Harry would forget that day, so remembering it was no hard task. 

  


They were lunching in Belfast, Draco watching Harry demolish some sort of apple crumble with relish, when an explosion of sorts went off near them, starting off as a rumble as a string of cars went up in flames and fanfare. It was so startling for a brief moment that Draco didn’t even realize what was happening, only noticing that the glasses at their table had shattered instantly and that the side of his face was stinging and everything had been sent flying. He turned and saw muggles and wizards running, with silent screams from the smoking, sparking crater that used to be one of those muggle ‘lorries,’ a small number of bodies lying around it, parts of bodies as well, charred, and there was silence for a moment. Only an odd ringing like the church bell’s they had listened to before lunch but too fast, too high pitched for it to be that. In one of the blown out store fronts sat a dress stained in red, half-heartedly fluttering. 

  


This was when the first figure out of the smoke appeared, long black robe shimmering with green, dark tendrils of magic, but the mask. 

  


It was almost a death eater mask, but not quite. The face too long, the colors too bold with bright blue swirls and shapes, but the gaping, stitched maw was the same. Draco froze. 

  


_It couldn’t be_.

  


And that’s when the sound came back, all at once, a cacophony of muggle sirens and screaming people and spells being launched and blasting apart more explosive cars, their unholy cackling rising up. It wasn’t the death eaters. It simply couldn’t be. 

  


Which is when Harry stood up, knocking his chair over, instinct taking over, wand already out and hurling spells as if there’d never been a pause in the war, incapacitating the first death eater that had come out of the smoke, sending another two flying down the rubble filled street. He looked as an avenging angel, a god of chaos and destruction with the cuts bleeding from his temple and arms, his hair flying up from raw magic expulsion and his scar pale and bright against his reddish-brown skin. He looked at him fiercely, bright green eyes alight. The man who had beaten death twice.

  


“ _Draco_. Come on!”

  


Draco finally snapped out of it, whatever it was and flung aside one of the curses heading towards Harry from behind—more false death eaters heading up street— and resolved to try and cause as little property damage as possible. There were plenty of muggles and wizards injured here—prone and immobile with few moving— and one of the many old buildings, beautiful and ancient, could easily collapse on them. 

  


They stood like that, back to back, Draco providing the counter to every dark curse being shot their way, as if no time had passed since 1998, and Harry, powerful defeater of dark wizards, sent each one within range into a crumpled heap on the street, for a solid five minutes, there was only chanting, breathing and Draco shouting counter curses. _It was as if they were 17 again and full of fear_. Some of the buildings, in a gothic style, could be stand ins for Hogwarts. The broken bodies matched the muggleborn ones that littered Diagon Alley. There was the Death Eaters, a now forever nightmare sending curses whizzing to them, just as they always had, the spells muted by the masks. People still had a way of dropping and crumbling when hit with the various spells—the way stupefy would send someone twisting, the way expelliarmus would knock someone off their feet, the sickly green glow of avada kedavra streaking low and fast off the cobbles. It felt endless.

  


Irish aurors, mostly in green with a white and orange Celtic pattern down the side, appeared to start turning the tide against the coordinated attack, streaming in from the high street and apparating into the area. 

  


The world looked like an explosion of riotous color and the amount of magic in the air was thick enough to taste. Draco’s felt himself tire far sooner than he remembered.

  


Silence fell in the street as the last one hit the ground, stunned into submission. Just the sounds of Harry’s harsh breathing, and the ringing in his ears, the heat from the sun and the explosion and the familiar ache of dueling settling into his arms. It was over. 

  


The sounds would fade but smell he would never forget. 

  


* * *

  


Once they’d looked one another over, afraid to speak but entirely concerned, Draco had started undoing some of the more embedded curses poking out of the stone buildings, needing something for the adrenaline, while Harry talked with the aurors, detailing what had happened, how many their were, etc; a few who recognized him were able to smooth over and vouch for the extremely powerful wizard standing before them (wearing of all things: ripped slim fit jeans, a stolen red flannel from Ronald from ages ago and a shirt that was advertising something called ‘Spice World’) and, as a result, his curse breaking boyfriend (dressed _far_ better) who was currently removing another one of those bomb like curses that had, apparently, been the starter of whatever had blown up the string of cars. 

  


As long as they were moving, he knew things were okay. 

  


Things only went wrong when the body wasn’t moving. _Gods_ , he was tired, he could feel every pulse of magic left in him and it was like trying to run after running all day. The sun was hotter than he remembered. Was it even the same day? It was all still a bit fuzzy—shock, one of the healers had said while he was shrugging them off to focus but as long as Harry was moving then, well, he was fine. 

  


He didn’t anticipate this level of destruction. Even the battle of Hogwarts hadn’t been so utterly violent on its surroundings, so rarely did wizards intend to cause property damage. Here whole buildings had gone up and cars eviscerated to their parts. Often any damage was caused from deflected spells, unless a barrier was in the way, their recipients always, well, recipients. He didn’t remember much from the battle of Hogwarts with any distinction, the fear and adrenaline and terror turning it into flashes and sensations. Not unlike today. _Maybe this is what it meant to be on the other side..._

  


Instead this looked more like a scene from one of the muggle war documentaries that Harry would fall asleep watching on the couch, with shell shocked people being pulled from the rubble, healer teams appearing and reappearing to take them to the hospital, ‘ambulances’ with squibs taking the obliviated muggles away, and bodies being stacked in the streets. A boy with half a face placed not ungently next to a woman clutching a bundle of shopping, her legs long since gone. All it needed now were the ‘planes’ flying overhead and ‘air raid’ sirens. 

  


He had to focus on this curse though, ignoring the bile rising in his throat and the panic cresting in him. The curse, the curse and _only_ of the curse. It was similar in build to a standard tripwire explosion curse, something nearly every dark family knew and rarely perfected. There was the intent, the trigger, all of the parts, just simmering below the surface of the old brick. He could sense, more than see, the direction it was facing as he passed his wand over it, the familiar motions of his work. _How many had been used in the war—_ But there was a slight twist, a hint of garden magic that added something coarse and stinging into the blast. Garden or hedge magic wasn’t as common in dark family curses, being that, well, it was _common._ He’d attempted to extrapolate this to Harry once but couldn’t really articulate it in a way that made sense.

  


Garden magic was more organic than pureblood magic; both were refined over decades and centuries of familial use, but while pureblood magic was studied, refined and distilled to its purest form, garden magic moved the opposite way, growing less like a cultivated rose and more like a camellia, a wild species that could pop up and support itself but looked very much like a rose. It could be tempered over time, like pureblood magic, but it hardly ever made exact logical sense. Garden magic was always a bit wild, a bit unpredictable. Things that made sense at the time compounded over ages never ended predictably.

  


This wasn’t only designed to kill, but to maim and forever dismember, stinging barbs home grown from ages of mistrust. 

  


With a last flick, he removed the last ‘detonators’ of the curse several minutes later, sending the magic—garden and pureblood— whizzing up into the sky to fizzle out. He felt his pulse drop slowly, _his_ war was long over. Dropping his arms, he looked around for Harry. 

  


Without any surprise, he could see him standing there, talking or ordering, one of the aurors to mind their own business while he held a small, small child in his arms. 

  


He couldn’t even bring himself to say Saint Potter. 

  


Instead he strode over, pushing his slightly singed hair back into shape and with all the authority of his forebears, said in an icy tone, “What is the matter here?”

  


“This foreign national,” said the auror, green robes contrasting with his shock of Weasley styled hair, “Is trying to remove this child from the scene without any proper clearance—for all we know he could be a part of all of this—“

  


“Oh for _fu_ —“ 

  


“What my associate is trying to say is that he’s the head of the department of Magical Child Services in London. He’s not absconding with the child, simply trying to remove her from the disaster area.” These where bits and pieces of phrases he’d heard Harry use before on aurors. They usually worked well. Dropping his voice lower and leaning towards the auror, who was so young it made him nauseous, “I highly doubt that any of us want this young one to see her family in _pieces_ on the bloody street.”

  


He looked taken aback after that but then properly sheepish. 

  


“Right. Well.” He looked around for an authority figure and seeing none, drew himself up to full height. “We can handle the situation here but we’re short—could you please, Department Head Potter and—“

  


“Head Cursebreaker Malfoy,” Draco supplied, pulling out the full title for added oomph. The auror winced further, probably already feeling the sting of the chewing out he would receive later, the drilling of hierarchy already smarting.

  


“Head Cursebreaker Malfoy, escort the child to the ministry so we can process her with the rest of the victims.” Assured that the child would stay safe with him, Harry’s hackles went down, though he kept his guard up. 

  


“Sure,” Harry said, “Where’s the entrance at?”

  


“Up the high street— find the store between the church and the pub that’s selling hats. There’s a phone booth—Star-Six-Seven— there that’ll let you into central processing.” 

  


Harry nodded and turned away, understanding those words, and already marching up the street leaving Draco to bid their adieu— “Thank you Auror Daniels.”—before also turning and catching up to him. 

  


“Harry slow down—“ Harry ignored him, walking at a steady clip. “Harry—“ Nothing. “Potter _slow down_!” That finally snapped him out of it and he nearly tripped over a set of burnt bricks. 

  


“Finally, honestly, you nearly started an international incident back there—“

  


“I had it under control.”

  


“Harry,” and Harry finally looked up at him, a chunk of glass missing from his beloved glasses, his hair singed on the same side and his cheeks still far too thin from childhood, and Draco’s admonishment died in his throat, “Why don’t you tell me about her?” He motioned to the small girl in his arms. 

  


“I found her tucked behind one of those heavy tables, I think she passed out and—“ Harry swallowed hard, staring down at her, where her little hand clutched his shirt as if in sleep he could protect her, her golden red hair tumbling over in messy curls and her soft face unblemished though her hands and knees were scraped and bleeding, “—I don’t think her family made it.” He sounded so...

  


Young and tired and familiar with it in a way he hated. 

  


“Then we’ll have to take care of her, won’t we?” Draco said softly, feeling his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest, “So she’s not alone.”

  


“Right,” he swallowed thickly, taking the hand Draco was offering after adjusting her on his other arm and squeezing tightly. “She’ll be okay.”

  


“She will be.” 

  


They made the rest of the way to the ministry in silence. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story roughly takes place in 2005/2006, after the end of the Troubles but not so far past that people don’t remember it. In fact, a lot of the Irish wizards probably remember it all too well. Also, firmly putting my stake in the ground that magical Ireland is one ‘whole’ country in the HP verse, and because I think it makes more sense as wizards seem to not be particularly religious though more ethnocentric than expected. This is a theme that you’ll see throughout this fic.
> 
> What I assume happened is similar to what happened post-World War II for many adjacent countries— radicals / sympathizers moved from their land to a new one (in this case, Death Eaters) and merged their cause with the cause du-jour or des-pays as it were. While in Germany, neo-nazism is stopped severely, everywhere else, it’s more tolerated, so the same I believe would happen here; while in the UK, Death Eaters are strongly persecuted, elsewhere the movement was “softened.” Very much how nazis found their cause taken up by former confederate / white supremacists in the US to merge into a new movement, so did former death eaters and death eater sympathizers do to the members of the IRA who had magic, hence the bright blue on the masks and green on the robes. And since the muggle UK ‘owns’ Northern Ireland, it was easy to jump ship to the Emerald Isle through muggle / wizard means and join up with the IRA right before the end of the war / right after the end of the war.
> 
> And of course, there’s tons of contention between the British and Irish governments about this, hence the attack. The death eater’s were the Brits problem not the Irish—which of course the Brits counter that this is just the IRA using the Brits dark wizard’s look and feel. And of course, no one can just form an international task force to handle this. Maybe it’s high time someone invented wizarding Interpol. I did base some parts of it off of the unfortunately common car bombings / bombings of the Troubles, particularly how often the targets were civilians.
> 
> Yes, Harry’s fashion sense is still terrible, and yes, he steals most of his clothes from Ron and buys the rest at consignment stores. Draco’s working on it.
> 
> For this fic, I have about half of it written (out of order, of course) with about 1-4 actually finished, so it may take me two weeks between posting chapters so I have some time to actually write in between. HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL OF THE HITS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, ETC. It's your support that gives me writing fuel and I appreciate you all.
> 
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright
> 
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


	2. Chapter 2

Central processing was a madhouse— wizards and aurors and ministry officials and fucking _journalists_ running about, half of them marked with some kind of chalk from one of the wizards running the overrun intake desk. There was a wide variety of colors, ranging from black to red to orange to yellow to green, and once they’d pulled and pushed their way to the desk, they were shouted over and given green marks after a quick spell to check over the them and sent in the direction of the over crowded chairs, nearly getting run over by a large group of Portuguese tourists all shouting in Portuguese while the official kept shouting back in English and Celtic that a translator was on the way. 

  


“C’mon,” Harry tugged his hand, spying a chair and a half in the corner, “No sense shouting through this.”

  


“Not going to use your chosen one privilege?” He huffed out half a laugh in response.

  


“Think I’ve used all that up today already,” he says back, sitting heavily in the chair after Draco waves him off. He’d been grazed with a stunner earlier but nothing out of the ordinary for a fight. Harry had avoided all injury, aside from the initial explosions—lucky bastard, so he just adjusted her to the other side as he looked up at Draco, resting his head against the wall. 

  


They each watch other a moment. Harry has soot across his face and his sleeve is ripped in several places—the blood long ago now coagulated, his broken glasses and singed hair. At least he looks more settled around the chaos of Processing, the walk and purpose doing him good. Draco’s certain he looks a sight: his trousers are certainly torn, with grime dug into the knees where he’d had to dodge a stinging hex, only complimenting his burnt hair and sliced up left side, and his lovely pale slate sweater he’d bought at the Galleries Lafayette with the twisting cabled vines completely ruined. But that doesn’t stop Harry from reading his mind, apparently.

  


“Hey handsome,” his mouth twisting into a grin. Draco rolled his eyes with a blush.

  


“If you tack on some cheesy line like—“

  


“Come here often?” And that made him almost laugh, helpless to it and relieved. 

  


“You know,” he finally responded, crossing his arms, “I assumed that dating you would be more cause for emotional trauma or being ostracized.” At one point, he did think those things, extensively, but persistent wearing down had worked like a charm after the first year and a half. Now it was just a joke between two people who understood one another and could laugh at it all.

  


“It’s a two for one deal—emotional _and_ physical trauma.” He pauses. “But for _once_ I don’t actually think it was me.” Draco fully laughs this time, folding in half to breathlessly put his hands on his knees and just laugh. It felt good.

  


“What?” It takes him a moment and the stares of half the other people in chairs to calm down enough to answer but eventually he straighten a up with a pop of his spine. 

  


“Just thinking about how reasonably weird this all is,” now it’s Harry’s turn to laugh softly. 

  


“At this rate, we’re going to end up with Reasonably Weird as our epitaph.”

  


“Really.” There’s a comfortable silence as they regard each other. Some time passes, they’re both a bit out of shape for dueling it seems, and they only make the occasional comment until the witch next to Harry finally wakes up and leaves to yell at the front desk and Draco snatches up her chair so they can sit together. “Though, there are far worse words to leave behind.” Harry nods, adjusting the girl to his other shoulder so he can press the closer one into Draco’s. 

  


“Far worse indeed.”

  


When Harry wakes up, not 20 minutes later, Draco’s taken charge of holding the girl, and the waiting room has emptied out a bit, enough where it’s no longer a dull roar. 

  


He sits up carefully and cracks his neck. The blond next to him winces, like always, but doesn’t move. 

  


“You reckon we can get to the front?”

  


“You missed it,” Draco told him with mild interest, “Just so happens that same lot of aurors just walked in and posted a list of those Injured or killed which sent everyone in a frenzy to hospital.” Harry frowned but he wasn’t a part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement during the war so maybe that was standard procedure for mass casualty events. 

  


“Must mean the scene has been cleared.” He brushed a few locks of hair from the girl’s face. “She woken up yet?” 

  


“Sort of, but she went right back to sleep.” 

  


“So we wait.”

  


“So we wait,” he replied. Harry took his other hand. They could wait. 

  


* * *

  


Here’s how they meet Rebecca McIntyre. They’re talking back and forth, chatting about almost nothing at all (though Draco would be loathe to admit his hair amounts to nothing, particularly how Harry could spend hours running his hands through it when watching telly) when the little girl who was sleeping on Harry looks up at them apropos of nothing, with giant brown-green-hazel eyes and says plain as day in a thick Irish accent, “Am I like you now?” 

  


Draco holds in the choke of surprise he wants to make but Harry Potter, who he’s certain has never had a normal day in his life, takes it in stride. “Hey there,” he answers in his soft children-are-listening voice, “How are you feeling?”

  


“My head hurts like I’ve been crying and my ears are ringing—am I like you now?”

  


“Well,” Harry pauses, placing his other hand on top of hers, where her freckled pale skin is tightly gripping his far darker wrist, “I’m not sure what you mean... can you tell me?”

  


“An orphan, like you... are...” she looks at both of them with a dazed look, “Is everyone really dead?” 

  


Draco had never felt strongly about children. Of course he loved Teddy, he was his relation. And he didn’t mind them, abstractly. And he _had_ seen the world’s most adorable baby at the Tate a few weeks ago when Harry told him they had to go see a Picasso (whoever that was, his _Weeping Woman_ was terrifying) that was coming through. But looking at this young girl, with her impossibly large eyes and dirty blonde-red hair and skinned knee that still had a ‘Mickey Mouse’ plaster on it, he felt a torrent of emotions rise up and replace the doubts. He wanted to protect this girl from the world if he could. It broke his heart just as badly that he couldn’t. 

  


“What’s your name, love?” At least Harry was immune to children, deftly skirting the question for now.

  


“R-Rebecca McIntyre...” 

  


“I’m Harry Potter, and this is my partner, Draco Malfoy,” Draco gave her a smile, which he hoped properly conveyed ‘concerned but trustworthy adult,’ “And it’s nice to meet you. Do you remember what happened?”

  


Her face screwed up as she tried to remember, “I think... we were looking for a pastry, because Mum wanted one for Sunday with Gran, but didn’t like the shop because Clarence’s Mum’s Brother’s Sister stole a dish or something— and then it was really loud and really hot and then I couldn’t feel them anymore but,” she looked up, with tears in her eyes, “I could feel you and you were scared and sad...” Harry nodded like this all made sense, shifting in his seat to be more at her eye level.

  


“And do you feel things a lot?”

  


“Mum says it’s because the magic passed over her and that Da’s Mum—not her Mum—she’s a real banshee. But Mum says that sort of stuff all the time.” She was taking this well if a bit dazed. 

  


“Mum’s do that a lot, don’t they?” Harry smiled gently at her, “Draco’s Mum does that all the time.”

  


“But not your mum because she’s dead too...” Draco flinches but Harry doesn’t and _Gods above, how could Harry do this all the time?_

  


“That’s right, my Mum and Dad died, a long long time ago, during a war... are you able to see all that?”

  


Rebecca shakes her head, and really, her hair is going to be a knitted mess at this rate, “Just some things. Words people think a lot. And only if we’re touching or I know them really really well. Bobby Airs at school always said I was faking but I’m not!” She shook her head more. “I’m not!! I’m not!! I’m not!!”

  


“Shh, shh, Rebecca,” and Harry wrapped her in a hug as she started to sob, “I’ve got you... I’m not going anywhere...” 

  


“I don’t want them to be gone!” She wailed, “We were supposed to go to church and then back to Gran’s!” 

  


“I know,” he told her in the same soothing voice, “I know you were.” Rebecca kept crying. 

  


Draco, if you asked him, didn’t believe in curses. He was more of a practical sort, the kind who would look for signs and signatures and real magic left behind in the silent houses he would sweep through. Privately, he would not admit to it, but he did believe in _real_ curses. Grief. Sorrow. Biting loneliness. Curses that magic couldn’t cure and curses that seers couldn’t predict. He did, having seen it first hand, believe in the darkest curse of revenge, of anguish from loss. And while he wouldn’t not put any stock into it, it didn’t stop him from setting his own curse into the world, cursing this new breed of death eaters brought howling up from hell, spinning cyclones of death and destruction. 

  


But if he were being honest, he knew the curse would mean nothing, because this tragedy was only the after effects of a curse his family had made themselves. 

  


* * *

  


By the time Rebecca had finally calmed down and was sitting in a stupor, Draco and Harry had attracted a Medi-Witch in soft blue robes over to them. 

  


“Poor wain’s tuckered herself now, has she?”

  


“She has—do you have any chocolate?”

  


“Aye, yes, in the back break room, the whole lot’s all full up but we’ve got space yet,” she held out her hand, “Come on now, we’ll get you sorted out.” Rebecca looked at her distrustfully and Draco eyed her approvingly. She was quite smart to be suspicious, however nice this woman was. 

  


Luckily, Harry was the sensible one, he crouched down by Rebecca and asked her, “Would you like Draco and I to go with you?”

  


Rebecca nodded, hopping up from the chair and taking Harry’s hand, clutching it right before capturing Draco’s hand as well. She was bit taller than waist height on both of them, certain to be almost tall as them when she was full grown. Through his Occulemency, he could sense that she was resting just outside his normal shields, not intentionally, but just that was where she normally sat.

  


The Medi-witch gave them both a look but led them back to the break room, where two other witches were attending to a set of aurors and another family with a child. They all stopped when the three of them walked in, staring at the three of them. At first, he assumed it was their appearances, because they were a bit of a sight, or that they had recognized Harry. But then he saw the way their eyes all watched their linked hands. _Oh._

  


“Hop up here, dear.” And Rebecca let go of them to sit on the desk, but quickly took Harry’s hand back. Harry was oblivious, as always, and entirely focused on Rebecca, leaving Draco to do the dirty work. He put on his best, withering Malfoy sneer and looked at them each in turn. Only the witches had sense to look embarrassed but he knew what would work best. 

  


He merely dropped the sneer and sniffed, turning his back fully to focus on Rebecca. It was an old trick of Father’s, to make the room feel as if they were an inch tall, and then cement his status by completely ignoring them and it seemed it would work again, because the chatter picked up but in a hushed tone and everyone avoided them. 

  


“Now, let’s check the knee—“

  


“It’s from last week,” Rebecca said around the chocolate, “I fell on my bike on my way to school. Clarence’s Mum gave me the plaster. She’s a muggle.”

  


“That was nice of her,” the witch said absently, “What about this on your arm, does it hurt?” 

  


“A little,” she looks down at it, “But Harry said it’s just a bruise.”

  


“Another adventure on your way to school?”

  


“No, it’s from today,” the witch nodded and worked up a spell to clean the cuts and burns—he was certain like the rest of them, Rebecca was going to have some weird hair for a while. Then she handed Rebecca another potion (a simple Pepper Up Potion or something local variety) before turning to them.

  


“Well, it looks like your....” she hesitated and the room got a bit quiet again, “Your daughter is fine, a bit scuffed up but it seems she avoided the worst of it—“

  


“She’s not our daughter.” _Oh for Merlin’s sake, Harry, now is not the time to be honest!_

  


“What Harry means,” Draco cut through, “Is that the auror’s on scene tasked us with making sure Rebecca got here safely—he’s head of the Department of Magical Child Services in the British Ministry. Show her your badge, Harry.” Harry blinked once, but did as he was asked, pulling out his somewhat ratty wallet—Draco really had to get him a new one for Christmas— and showed his badge and card. 

  


“Sorry,” he added, as the witch inspected it, “Normally, everyone knows who I am.” 

  


“I understand,” the witch said, implying no, she did not.

  


“Did you really kill that Voldemort bloke?” Rebecca looked up at him. 

  


“Well,” Harry scratched the back of his head, like he wasn’t the most powerful wizard to beat death twice, “He sort of turned to dust—“ 

  


“Yes,” Draco said with a bit of exasperation, “He’s _that_ Harry Potter.” 

  


“Ohhhhhh,” Rebecca nodded, “Okay.” _Children._ Draco would never understand them. But at least Harry was giving him that grin, the one that said how much he enjoyed when Draco got annoyed again at his celebrity status; it was oddly settling. 

  


“Well,” the Medi-witch said, “I really should take this to the Head Auror—“ she motioned to Harry to walk out of range, like it was up to Draco to distract Rebecca. His body and mouth taking over, after having seen Harry do it so often, using what he hoped was a gentler tone. “Rebecca, you said you ride your bike to school?”

  


“Yes, every day, unless it’s snowing,” she answered looking up at him.

  


He copied what Harry did and crouched down to her height, “Did you know I’ve never ridden a bike?”

  


“What?!”

  


“I know, Harry makes fun of me all the time for it even though he didn’t learn until he was 13.”

  


“But how?!”

  


“My family,” and he grimaced, “My family was very strict with muggle toys and games.” 

  


“Oh, like Da’s family. He said they never liked Mum or that she couldn’t do magic.” 

  


“Seems like that happens with some people,” he said quietly, rubbing the numb part of his arm where the skull sat burnt white. 

  


“You say she’s a orphan now?” 

  


“Unfortunately, yes,” Draco could catch just part of their conversation, as Rebecca was busily telling him all about her bike. 

  


“Then we’ll need to find her family if there’s any left.” 

  


Draco’s heart felt like it was stuck in a compact box that was only getting smaller and he wasn’t sure yet why. But Rebecca’s new story about her friend Clarence’s dog was helping. 

  


* * *

  


He wasn’t sure why they were still in Northern Ireland. He knew that the investigation and statement giving would take some extra time to clear—Blaise had all but given his blessing when he had owled back, scattering his letter with insinuations that by having him gone _he’d_ finally have a chance to whip the rest of the breakers into shape. Harry, being his own boss, set his own schedules, with one of his apprentices covering for him for the two open cases they had back in London. 

  


Every day, they’d wake up, breakfast in the hotel, then head over to visit Rebecca, who was currently living somewhat in the hospital and somewhat in the ministry. And Draco could tell, he was slowly becoming more and more attached to her, and Harry had been halfway gone since day one. Saint Potter indeed. 

  


After they’d spent what felt like all day talking and playing with Rebecca, they would return back to the Auror offices and Harry would try to track down her family. There wasn’t much left that hadn’t gotten caught in the blast and like Rebecca had said, her dad’s side of the family, the few that were left, weren’t so keen to open letters from the Ministry. Draco has gone through a few books in his time waiting (and becoming _familiar_ with the bookseller down the street) and he was now working his way through _Don Quixote_. 

  


Finally after the forth returned letter (returned by Howler no less) the Head Auror—a tall rangy fellow by the name of Butterman— decided to just show up on their doorstep. 

  


Which is why the next morning, they caught a teary Rebecca as she tried to escape the hospital, clutching one of Harry’s terrible sweatshirts in her hands (this one was advertising some sort of Natural History museum from Germany) and being chased by an old woman in mourning black and the head Auror and head medi-witch. 

  


“Stop her!”

  


“Harry! Draco! Don’t let her take me!” Rebecca was all but screaming her head off and at a rather high pitch (“I don’t know her!!”) and Harry was busy trying to get her to explain with his calm soothing voice so it was up to Draco to straighten his spine and stand between them. 

  


With his hand on his wand and his charcoal robes blowing in from the door and his second best casual suit on, he knew he cut an imposing figure. The three of them came to a stop, Butterman bending over to huff and puff at his knees. The older woman fixed him with a shrewd look. He held her gaze. “What’s going on here?”

  


“I’m sorry, who are you?”

  


“Draco Malfoy.” She nodded slowly, not really recognizing the name. He added, “Head Cursebreaker at Smithson & Sons.” She didn’t change her expression but her slight hesitation meant she recognized the firm at least. He could work with that. 

  


“Loreen McIntyre.” She leaned her head around to see where Rebecca was buried into Harry’s arms and Draco caught a whiff of her old, saccharine perfume. “And that’s my granddaughter. Thank you for catching her.” She smiled at him, so pleasing and demure and full of good breeding, it made his stomach turn. He’d seen that hollow smile so many times.

  


“I don’t want to go with her, Draco don’t let her take me...” Rebecca whispered into his arm. 

  


“Well, it just happened to be luck,” he said neutrally, stepping into her view again. “We were on our way to visit her.” 

  


Loreen’s expression dropped instantly, twisting into something cruel. “Oh. You’re the...” and she looked them up and down, taking in Harry’s ripped jeans and flannel, “Couple,” she decided on, saving what was sure to be something worse for later when there were less witnesses, “That’s been cavorting with my granddaughter.” 

  


“Keeping her company, fed and entertained until you could be bothered to come for her, yes,” said Harry, standing up with Rebecca behind him. Draco could already feel the thrum of energy in him, so used to it’s comforting safety. There was a time when that flare and crackle of power, like heat lightning, was turned on him but now it was the wall he could back himself against, knowing behind him was an ally. 

  


“Now now,” Butterman said with a grimace, “Why don’t we go talk this out in private?”

  


“Fine with us—“ 

  


“But Rebecca stays with us. She deserves to be a part of this.” 

  


“It’s hardly a place for a child to be—“

  


“I think I’m the best judge for that,” Harry said with a grin, his white teeth bared, his eyes green as acid and his scar pale against his sepia skin as he brushed the hair out of the way, as she gave a little gasp, “Harry Potter, Head of Magical Child Services.”

  


Who would have thought Harry had such a flair for the dramatic?

  


* * *

  


Four hours and two screaming matches later, almost always between Auror Butterman and Loreen, who kept trying to authorize an arrest, Harry finally just stood up and said what had been on his mind. 

  


“We’d like to bid for custody of Rebecca!”

  


“I never—“

  


“Now, now, Missus McIntyre, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy are both eligible to petition for custody under ministry law—“

  


“I don’t care WHAT the law says, I am her blood relation! The only child of my late son, god rest him. She is MINE.”

  


“She’s not a piece of property!” And at that the door slammed closed and papers flew and Draco had to hold Harry back a bit as he went to stand. 

  


“Really. Unintentional magic. Are you a wain yourself then, Mr. Harry Potter?” The wind in the room kicked up.

  


“I’ll give you unintentional magic—“

  


“ _Harry,_ “ he said sharply. “You’re scaring Rebecca.” 

  


Instantly the strong breeze stopped. “Oh.” He turned his focus entirely to Rebecca, “Oh, Bexy, I’m sorry...” and he took her hand and squeezed it. Rebecca looked up at him and smiled, just a little.

  


“It’s okay Harry, I do the same thing when I have to do my chores...” He took a deep breath, gripping Draco’s hand as well. He squeezed back. He felt like he was taking a leap off a very tall building. Was this what doing the right thing was all about?

  


“Draco and I would like to petition to take care of Rebecca, as per ministry regulation.”

  


Loreen crosses her thin arms and scoffs, “As if the Ministry will give the likes of _you_ custody. I would like to petition as well for custody—Rebecca will be perfectly fine with us until we send her off to St. Augustine’s after her birthday. Then she can get a _proper_ education.”

  


“Hogwarts can provide just as good of an education as any school—“

  


“A _mixed_ education I should say, based on its graduates.” Her voice was as dry as ever.

  


“Now wait wait,” Butterman put his hands up, “If there’s schooling involved, well, that’s a horse of a different color.” 

  


Draco let out an exasperated sigh, “Honestly—“

  


“Mr. Malfoy, hold it.” Butterman took charge of the room. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it correctly and dottin’ every I and crossin’ every T. Someone from the Family Court should be in touch with all of you once we get the paperwork sorted.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think for a hot _second_ that Irish wizards would let the British wizards educate their children you are a mad lad. The maddest of lads!
> 
>  **But what about Seamus?** He’s clearly moved to the UK at some point the traitor, but seriously. If there’s separate quidditch teams for each country and prime ministers/presidents for each country then why the fuck would the Irish go to Hogwarts. Just—everything about Jo’s expansion into other magical governments and schools is the worst world building I’ve ever seen which is why I tore it apart and have rebuilt it in a way to attempt to reflect the actual countries and cultures they represent. (Why you ask? It’s British Imperialism baby.)
> 
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright
> 
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
>   3. * [Beat Down - Mister Heavenly](https://youtu.be/y7vEpBjsNh4) * 
>   4. * [Come on Eileen - Save Ferris](https://youtu.be/HCzWPBR30Nk) * 
>   5. * [Tenderness - General Public](https://youtu.be/6XegL32Btzs) * 
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a huge info dump but, to be fair, I did put legal drama in the tags and with any legal drama comes background and case law. Think of it as the wizard’s version of Legally Blonde. Draco would look good in pink but it ruins the aesthetic of being an emo boy. (sidebar: I get _why_ Jo gave him a birthday in June so he would be a Gemini (double agent/agendas???) but CLEARLY the boy has strong, sad boy Virgo tendencies. It’s a waste that’s all I’m saying.)
> 
> The good news is that we’ve finally caught up to the first chapter in ‘real’ time. I'm posting TWO chapters today in honor of it being a three day weekend in the US--Thanks Memorial Day!

Harry shared a look with Draco before turning back to Hermione and taking his hand in the one not holding the wine glass. _“It’s not great,”_ echoed in his mind and he was certain it echoed in Harry’s.

  


She continued: “There are two issues at play: one, are you fit as parents, which should be easy enough to prove. Harry does it all the time and I have no doubt you’ll pass the home study and interviews with flying colors.” Sensing Draco’s objection, unspoken but there, she added, “Present war included in that. You are both British, which complicates the process, almost as if you were _importing_ a child versus adopting one but I assume that would be the same issue even if you weren’t wizards. There’s a whole slew of paperwork that will need to be done.”

  


“Not an issue,” Harry interjected, nodding firmly, “I fill out similar forms all the time.” He seemed committed to fighting the paperwork dragon as it seemed so there was nothing to add.

  


“Second issue, and this is a very old law from 800 years ago that was modified 150 years ago, that says that family is in charge of deciding on schooling and Irish families have precedent for removing their children from British schools—however, it’s got a secondary ruling that British families are given no acceptance into Irish wizarding schools. Essentially, because Rebecca is Irish, she’s not allowed to be taught at Hogwarts if her family says so, however, if she is adopted by a Brit, she wouldn’t be allowed at any Irish schools, a ridiculous notion but one which has, as a result, complicated the adoption bid. Placement starts as soon as they turn 10 and Rebecca is 9, hence the reason why there’s all these extra hoops to jump through.” 

  


She waves her hands, bushy hair swaying as she does it, “Pupil counts determine funding and allocations, all the sort of governmental issues duplicated as budget is being moved from one country to another. I’ve been searching through different historical texts, trying to find similar precedent that we can use— the main core of their case law sadly does _not_ deal with magical schooling, for which the rules are extremely old and varied. Now, we’ve slowed them down by filing an injunction that it should be handled by the British wizegamont but that’s only to stall. We’ll need to present, most likely, to a combination of both courts.

  


We’re also going to need an expert— As much as I’ve studied case law it’s been fairly limited over its history for Irish case law so I’ve been in contact with the educational secretary’s team in the United States— She directly worked with the former president and the head of UMNAS—and helped further the standards for what would later be defined as the Magical Child Protection Act of 1987 which—”

  


“You’re going to have to take a step back ‘Mione, Draco might have heard of UMNAS but Harry’s in the dark,” Ron reminded her, squeezing her shoulder before going to get more wine and some crisps. _When had they gone through the first bottle—_ wait, _he_ was nervously drinking again, he should slow down. He took a deep breath. So much was happening. He knew how they got here, it just had happened so fast he hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t sure he could stop it now.

  


Hermione took a deep breath, finished her wine, then took another deep breath. 

  


“Right, okay, so the United States has always had a bit of an odd system and it goes all the way back to the founding of America. Several groups of witches and wizards, facing persecution for their non-violent beliefs came to America, thus founding their own small local schools. This, unfortunately, led to the Salem witch trials for some muggles, who were blamed but it helped lead to founding the start of the magical government in the US.” Draco wondered if this was what it was like in school, Hermione figuring the nefarious plots so then they could then thwart them. If she had to pull the other two along with her prodigious brain. Harry, bless him, was brilliant but not the one for combing through texts for solutions, never mind Ron’s short attention span.

  


For a moment, he reflected on how odd it was to have such a familiar opinion on Harry’s friends. The conversation continued.

  


“Much like the Muggle government—“ Hermione started. 

  


“Sort of,” Harry stepped in, “The American government didn’t start until right before the American revolution.” 

  


There was a pause as they all looked at him.

  


He looked at them blankly in return, “What? I _did_ go to school prior to Hogwarts.” They all busied themselves with taking drinks and eating crisps but somewhere along the way he caught Harry’s eye and shot him a grin, which he returned in full, making Draco flush. Did he mention that Harry was brilliant? He should mention it again. The wine was getting to him. Even now. 

  


“Anyway, that was the start of the magical government which, as Harry said, wasn’t formalized until the American revolution. Schooling was regional and mirrored the state system, which is very unlike here. Essentially, each state has their own sub level of government that reports to the federal government, within reason of course.” 

  


“Sounds a bit like the European Union,” Harry chimed in, squinting a bit as he said it, “That thing the Muggle papers keep writing about—it’s sort of like a version of that.” ¹ Hermione nodded, while Draco was lost, maybe he should start reading the Muggle papers as Harry did. At least Ron looked as lost as he did, the ginger shooting him a shrug, as if to say, ‘That’s what ‘Mione is for.’ Now, here he was, Draco Malfoy, of those Malfoy’s, in the same boat as a Weasley. He was certain if Father had become a ghost he would have died of shock.

  


But the conversation moved on: “By extension, each state had their own local schooling systems based on area _or_ by ethnic group as magical immigrants moved into the country. The higher the population, the more likely you are to find Jewish magic schools, Polish, Irish— if there was an ethnic group that moved to the US, the likelihood that you would also find a magical school to serve that population was high.” 

  


“How many could they possibly have in the magical community?” Draco said after thanking Ron for the refill. 

  


“Across the America’s? Roughly 16 million, give or take—“

  


“16 _million_?!” Harry looked just as shocked as Draco did. 

  


“You forget, America is much larger with a much higher population of people, it stands to reason that they’d have a higher number of witches and wizards.”

  


“Still,” Ron quibbled, “There can’t be more than a couple hundred thousand in the whole of Britain. To somehow manage and govern that many wizards is still weird.” Ron was right—in Briton there were about 560,000 or so wizards. A _paltry_ number, apparently, and his family had some role to play in that, an idea he tried not to dwell on.

  


“How big is America? They can’t possibly all fit?” He asked no one in particular, one, so they could get off the discussion on population and two, as he couldn’t imagine that many wizards in Diagon Alley or Hogwarts or even at the Ministry

  


“Oh good lord, I’m not terribly good at geography,” Hermione said, eating a crisp with a furrowed brow. 

  


“I think it’s the size of Europe, roughly,” Harry said, trying to recall his scant public schooling, “It’s massive compared to here.” 

  


“Massive is one thing, this is beyond that. I’m not even sure you could apparate across the whole thing in one go even if you were Albus bloody Dumbledore.” They all sat in silence considering these facts.

  


“Getting back on track,” Hermione said, gesturing with a crisp, “After the Magical Civil War, which coincided with the American Civil War—it had to do with slavery,” she added, for the benefit of the pure bloods, not that it added much context for them, “It was decided that the schools, as a result of the change in states versus federal rights, could continue to operate uninterrupted as ‘separate but equal,’ meaning that the federal government had little control over what was being taught, how it was being taught or who was going the teaching, beyond the bare minimum of what was required. This all changed after the First World War.”

  


“The muggle world war?”

  


“One and the same. It affected not only muggles but wizarding communities, well, not as much, but still enough to be mentioned. In the United States it was actually worse for the magical community there. First, there was a huge amount of people affected by various diseases, magic and otherwise. The Spanish flu, polio, Dragon Pox, extreme poverty some would even say, they were hit by all of them. It’s actually rather fascinating, I was reading a book on the research team behind the cure for—“

  


“Love, focus,” Ron said, rescuing the glass from being knocked over. Hermione blushed. 

  


“Right. Essentially, there was a huge drive in creating vaccines and preventative potions by both sides to stop the various diseases that resulted in high mortality. Not all of them were successful, so much so that they avoided any conflicts external to their borders, taking a very isolationist stance. That changed during the Second World War. This is roughly the time when Grindewald rose to power as well. While the wizard in world was dealing with him, the muggle world was dealing with Hitler and his ilk, resulting in the intervention by the Americans in both wars.” She sighed, seeming at the same time old and young. 

  


“Who’s Hitler?” Harry gaped a bit at Ron, though Hermione seemed used to these sorts of questions. Draco was glad he hadn’t been the one to ask about it.

  


“Hitler was—” Harry interrupted her to say, words hot and fast, “Hitler was a dictator who rose to power in Germany, who was trying to take over the world, in order to purify it—resulting in the deaths of over six million Jews.” He was as angry as he was when talking about abusive parents or Voldemort, and Draco tentatively touched his arm and minutely, Harry lost some of the fire. More ghosts, he wonders if this is the fate of the Master of Death, to be forever surrounded.

  


“And Jews are?”

  


“It’s a religion, Ronald,” Hermione told him, “Similar to how my parent’s are catholic, you know, the church, the priests, the crucifixes.” Slowly he nodded.

  


“Seems a funny reason to kill people,” Ron replied, tactlessly. His own stomach turned, the wine souring within.

  


“Almost like hating people over blood status,” Draco said quietly in the silence. No one breathed for a moment. He never made mention of what he was a part of.

  


“It seems fascist ideologies go hand in hand with wizards and muggles,” Hermione concluded, not unkindly, “Now, here’s where the magical government joined forces with the muggles to stop the war and end some diseases, it wasn’t just that Dumbledore arrived in annexed Austria alone to fight Grindewald, he had the support of American military and wizards helping to pave the way as they were fighting their way towards their own monster. There was a pacific theater, changing powers and world leaders, new technology that changed the world, etc, and followed all the way through the abdication of Harold Humphrey, the Magical president, right after the end of the muggle war. Ring any bells?”

  


Harry shakes his head and so does Draco. It’s surprising when Ron speaks up. 

  


“I remember a distant cousin of mine talking about him— he’d spent time in the States and really admired the bloke, was practically a saint to him.”

  


“It’s very true, a lot of Americans, magical _and_ non-magical, venerated Humphrey as saint-like. He was stricken by Dragon Pox as a child, before being cured and became a huge advocate for underserved people during his tenure. When he retired after he was cured, and after he guided a nation through the trauma of the war, he turned his attention to the children of the country. It was he, who took over as the secretary of education, not un-similar to our parliamentary Minister of Education, and worked to repeal the separate but equal doctrine.” 

  


“That all makes sense but why would he risk the secrecy of the magical community? Being that public of a figure?”

  


“The Americans have always had a different view of magic. It’s hard to describe.” Hermione set her notes aside, sighing and leaning into Ron as she did so. “We’d likely have to ask someone from their community to describe it, but it seems, from all the readings, that they treat muggles differently than we do here. For better or for worse, they see their fate tied to muggles and take a far stronger stance on integrating the muggle and magic community. They often live side by side, congregating in local meeting places versus building insulated communities.”

  


“How...” Draco stopped and shook his head. “They’re going to get found out. One way or another. The separation is necessary.” They were too different to coexist in knowledge of each other. He looked to Harry for support but he only half nodded, in that way he always did when talking with headstrong Aurors. He’d yet to make an opinion but wouldn’t make that known until necessary. 

  


“The point is, after he took over, both Canada and Mexico got involved as well, through his connections as a former president, and pooling their funds, research and authority together, they created UMNAS, the United Magical North American Schools. It’s a collection of two _thousand_ schools across the region that offer education and boarding for roughly two _million_ students. They employ over ten _thousand_ teachers and over four _thousand_ support staff, not to mention they’re closely tied into their department of welfare, economics and national defense. They’re a massive program of regulation, seniority and funding. Actually, it’s where I got some of the ideas for your department Harry.”

  


“Really?” 

  


She nodded, “Specifically, the Magical Child Protection Act of 1987. It’s dense but it essentially created three rules: one, that children have as much rights to be safe, treated fairly and cared for by adults of sound mind and reasoning. Two, that schooling must be adequate in all things necessary for adulthood, now including things like taking care of yourself, filing taxes, that sort. Three, it is the duty of the Department of Magical Child Services to determine if these needs are being met and if not, to place children in schools and homes that fill these needs. The actual text is far denser but that’s the premise.” Harry nodded slowly.

  


“It’s very similar, I had no idea...”

  


“I may be brilliant,” Hermione smiles at him, “But I’m not going to reinvent case law until I’ve completed my secondary schooling. They have an exceptionally wide range of employees, pupils and case law and regulations, spanning three countries and 400 years of history. Just in the last 30 years _alone_ they’ve dealt with over a hundred cases similar to this one. If there’s anyone who’s going to be able to help us, it’s going to be the Americans.”

  


* * *

After that, the rest of the evening passed in a bit of blur, which could have been due to the second bottle of wine they finished over the course of their discussion. Who would owl who. Who would file for what. What papers needed copies. Ron kept busy with refilling and adjusting things, adding his own opinion, asking the obvious questions. The Golden Trio at work again, as if no time had passed.

  


Draco meanwhile occupied himself with reading through Hermione’s rather comprehensive research on the American magical government.

  


They called themselves Mage-USA and they seemed to be as big as she had told them. For a country with a population of almost 300 million, having 16 million wizards seemed almost small now for a scope of that size.

  


He skimmed the history section, still unsure at all the words flying past him—enlightenment, separation of church and state, amendments—focusing instead on the school portion. Above and below America, on the map at least, sat another set of massive nations, Canada and Mexico, respectively. Looking at the maps in the file, detailed with Hermione’s neat handwriting, he watched, page by page, as the borders between the three shifted, decade over decade until they finally stopped moving and became firm. 

  


No wonder they joined forces; some of the _largest_ parts of America had only joined in the last 100 years, and that was just the muggle parts. It was such a _new_ country. He was certain Malfoy Manor was nearly as old as the country itself was, and they had only left France a few centuries ago.

  


There were notes on the government, the branches that seemed similar yet different to the ministry here, the rules, the regulations, the funding. It looks like they’d been using elected people for centuries, something on a scale that didn’t happen here. The Minister was always voted in by the Wizegamont who were chosen half by status and half by local election. Even something as simple as taxes, rules that had been in place for the past five hundred years in Britain seemed up to debate in Mage-USA. Never mind the controversy of funding a school system that benefited other nations. Her notes read: _Reminiscent of NAFTA_ , whatever that was, _Likely Humphrey’s greatest moment._

  


He’d never felt his place in the world as being small. In fact, at times, it seemed like their now apparently small island was the only one in existence, floating outside of ominous words like World War and Cold War and Genocide. Yet now he was starting to think that it was less ignorance and more isolation. So much destruction in such little time, now subsisting in footnotes.

  


Then there was the linguistics of the country—they called their muggles Unenchanted, the term apparently new in the last 60 years. Before that, all of the texts seemed to use the words Wandless, but that had fallen into a bit of a faux pas, being that indigenous populations (a word combination he had never seen before) tended to forgo traditional wands to do their magic. Sometimes they called them Giftless too, that word was littered in, with healthy skepticism in Hermione’s print. _Seems arrogant and in poor taste,_ she remarked next to a harsh quote in opposition of something called the Integrated Building Act of 1964. 

  


His head was swimming, unsure of the information being poured in.

  


“Draco?” He looked up. Harry was standing up next to him, stretching, a list being pocketed in the same script. “Ready to go home?”

  


“Of course,” he replied, setting the notes neatly on the table. That was enough world history for one day. “Do we have everything?”

  


“For now, Mrs. Weasley-Granger, soon to be the first Female Minister—“ 

  


“—Oh stop it—” she blushed. Draco was more certain than ever it would be fact within the decade. But a thought sprung up through the certainty, that _if_ they were more like Mage-USA, he wasn’t sure that people would vote for her. He wasn’t sure if they _had_ racial problems like the ones in the notes (the dread in learning what slavery exactly entailed floated past him again) but he knew that there was a reason a female minister would be a first for them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out the rest.

  


“—Will have more for us this week as she compiles the rest of it.”

  


That same feeling of moving too fast hit him again but he shook it off. This was the right thing to do.

  


“Then I suppose we’d better study and report back.” Harry grinned.

  


Things would be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ = Harry has a very basic knowledge of muggle politics, so in 2005 he’s finally stared picking up papers and understanding about this newfangled (to him, it started in 1992) EU thing people keep talking about, and why Pansy kept complaining about Euros over Francs. If you’re wondering, he reads _The Guardian_ the most. He’s very aware of the irony.
> 
>  **Here’s what I like about Ilvermorny:** it’s a saccharine story, all about finding love and being kind and _very_ reminiscent of 2015’s _Cinderella_. Like it’s a bit uncanny how it’s essentially the same emotional core/basic plot.
> 
>  **Here’s what I dislike about Ilvermorny:** literally everything else. Not to say Americans are special or some BS like that, but the school should probably reflect the country more than just duplicating British imperialism. Come on, the ruler of a country stepping down on a schedule? For that matter, a ruler picked by vote and _not_ the divine right of God? Unheard of for the time. The sheer amount of space and population? Like Jesus I get that Jo said there was 1 wizard for every 10 muggles and then retroactively said there were 3K TOTAL in the UK which would mean that even at her rate of 3K, that would translate to roughly, 16K in the US for a country of 300M. That is way more than you could stick in a single school (I think she also said like 1K of that 3K were students which means that the birth rate for wizards is like some _bonkers_ one child policy, sorry Weasley’s) at her weird 1/3 are at school rule (4,950). **The point is, I side with the 1 in 10 rules because it makes more statistical sense.** Even if you drop the rate to 5% it’s still logical, which is what I went with for this series.
> 
>  **Why go to the Americans?** consider this: you’ve got 50 states of Unenchanted rules, 50 states of wizarding rules, 3 countries of federal rules, both Unenchanted and wizarding, and you have to somehow make sense of it and still keep the lights on. If anyone is going to be able to navigate two country and schools worth of rules, it’s going to be the crazy motherfuckers across the pond. Another thing to consider: American wizards and witches see themselves as _both_ part of the magical and unenchanted community, compared to the wizards in the UK who see themselves as entirely separate, binary concepts. You aren’t a person—you’re a witch/wizard OR a muggle, whereas in the US, you’re an American who is also a witch or wizard. It creates a very isolated, detached experience I think, for better or worse. So far this is the chapter I'm most nervous about and have fiddled with the most so hopefully it makes sense. There's a lot of organic stuff in here compared to canon.
> 
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright
> 
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
>   3. [Beat Down - Mister Heavenly](https://youtu.be/y7vEpBjsNh4)
>   4. [Come on Eileen - Save Ferris](https://youtu.be/HCzWPBR30Nk)
>   5. [Tenderness - General Public](https://youtu.be/6XegL32Btzs)
>   6. *[Water Flow - Klyne](https://youtu.be/XkqlTk-YjHo) * 
>   7. * [Amerika - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/8P1utNegyt4)* 
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


	4. Chapter 4

The woman responsible for saving their skins was _nothing_ like Draco had pictured— she was tall and that was only made worse by her high heels and her hair was in a blunt, ash blonde bob. Just like the sort of women on the magazines at Tesco’s, sneering at him with their dark eyes and their running makeup and their thin, bony bodies. Her makeup was at least tasteful, and only served to make her face look younger and more vibrant, all of which was compounded by the dark purple suit she wore. On her lapel was a pin with the crossed wands and American flag surrounded by a border of stars and the words _E pluribus unum_ , marking her as a member of the Magical US Government, just as it was spelled out on all the paperwork. They had finished mailing over long distance owl less than a week before the trial was to start.

  


(The time had seemed to gone by in a blur for Draco and while Harry seemed to be drawing energy from the proceedings, he had felt unmoored and tired. Their place was always being called on by owls and paperwork. Floo calls and visits between their place and the Weasley-Granger residence. Between work and preparation, he wasn’t sure even what day it was any more. This he could at least do. He’d been accompanying Father since he could politely use all four forks and hold a conversation on local politics with ease.)

  


“Cynthia Wallis of Mage-USA, you must be Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,” she said with a crisp, northeastern and undeniably American accent and a broad, friendly smile. Harry smiled back but Draco was demure, giving a somewhat friendly nod. They weren’t chums, as Blaise would say, so there was no reason to greet one another as if they were. She shook both of their hands before inclining her head back in a short nod, “And this is my assistant, Thomas Gabryszak.” 

  


Behind her was an even taller, broader man, with two days of facial hair, square, thick black glasses and wearing a dark gray suit with a thin tie. It seemed that while she was stretched tall, he was tall proportionally and regarded them all with a brief but matching smile before falling into a more blank expression. He also had a pin on his lapel but also seemed to be in charge of carrying their bags, and her briefcase. He nodded once at the introduction before reaching out a firm hand to shake each of theirs once. Draco’s hand ached a bit from all the glad-handing they’d been doing over the week, between this and looking for a new place that could hold three people instead of two. Another change from the past.

  


“We’re glad you could come on short notice,” Draco said, never one to lose his manners over a simple thing such as meeting the two people meant to help them retain Rebecca, “I know it’s quite the trip.”

  


“Oh,” Cynthia said with a flap of her hand, “It was an easy flight.” 

  


“Slept through the whole thing,” Thomas added in a deep voice with an even broader accent than hers. Near them a ‘plane’ went roaring over them. He winced at the sound. No one else seemed to have any reaction.

  


“We really appreciate you coming to help us prepare, Miss Wallis,” Harry added, with a winsome smile. 

  


“Please, call me Cynthia,” she said with a wider smile, “And we’re honored to help out Harry Potter.” Harry stiffened beside him as he always did with fans, Draco’s hand going to the small of his back to steady him. “Your grandfather and great grandfather were hugely helpful in during the world wars with their support, both in medicine and politically.” _Well. That was surprising._

  


“Right,” Harry responded, off kilter, so Draco took the lead, “If you could follow us to the aparition point, we can get you set up in the flat— then, if you’re not too tired, we can show you what we’ll be working on?” 

  


“Sounds fantastic!” _So loud_. And then, as if she were admitting some great secret, “I honestly can’t believe I’m here, I’ve visited Les Corps des Magies in France and Der Chancellor Zauber, and then of course, the Canadian Prime Minister and the Mexican President, and Tommy’s been in charge when the Polish Prime Minister visits, But I’ve never had a chance to visit England before! It’s so exciting, like stepping back in time.” Now it was Draco’s turn to be shocked. Aside from the international confederation, the wizarding government mostly kept to themselves. At least in Britain.

  


“It is pretty brilliant, visiting new places after hearing about them for so long,” Harry agreed, leading them down the street to where the point had been set up. “You’re going to like the area as well, it’s near the family courts in Temple, quite lovely buildings and gardens.”

  


“It sounds awesome,” Cynthia added, _awesome?_ , walking almost faster than the rest of them, Thomas only a half step behind her. _Did all Americans rush everywhere?_ Draco and Harry picked up their pace after a shared glance. “We’re excited to get started, we’ve been researching the UK all week.” Very chatty too.

  


“Is it true that Enchanted London is separate from Unenchanted London?” She asked as they waited for the light to change. 

  


“For the most part, yes,” Harry answered, used to the oddity that was the wizarding world. “There are some desperate areas but muggles can’t get into them.”

  


”That must make it hard for tourists to visit,” Thomas commented to no one in particular, watching a red bus throttle past them.

  


“And muggles are what you call non-magic people, right?” 

  


“Correct,” he answered, making sure they all got into the dim and grey alley off from the side road, where really there were only rats and cigarette butts to see them. 

  


After a quick aparition (Draco couldn’t help but stare at their wands, Cynthia holding a birch and cherrywood striped lengthwise wand that was maybe five or six inches in length from a pocket inside her jacket. And Thomas holding a black as night wand with a length of amber running up the side holding it together, nearly 12 inches in length that seemed to come from a hidden pocket on his trousers. Very odd.) they arrived in the combination loft / flat / office space that Harry had put them up in. 

  


It consisted of a lower level, where three desks sat, along with a kitchen and sitting area, and a metal staircase that went up to the two bedrooms and bathrooms, sectioned off from the rest of the space. It had cost quite a bit but Harry had cash to burn and he was taking no chances with this case. Draco thought it a bit extreme on a long shot but who was he to argue? It wasn’t his money.

  


“This’ll be perfect,” Cynthia added to his reverie, already unpacking their files and two dense pieces of dull ‘plastic’ and more notebooks, pads and pens than potentially necessary while Thomas took their other bags upstairs. “Though I don’t suppose we could get the case files sent over and a couple of white boards and cork boards as well?” Even Harry looked at her blankly for a moment but stuttered back to life. Draco had assumed they would spend the first day strolling around, taking them out to a nice dinner with copious amounts of booze and talking about pleasantries. It’s what Father had always done when calling on foreign lords and what he’d told Harry to expect.

  


“Sure, whatever you need...” Cynthia gave them another wide smile before continuing to setup the desks. 

  


Privately, Draco wondered what they had gotten themselves into. 

  


* * *

  


Within the hour, after Harry had ducked out to get some groceries and pick up the case files, when it seemed they were more eager to get started than tour the area; they had already set up a wide array of things, Draco watching all the while, providing answers when prompted. The whole process was a bit entrancing, if unsettling that it was _so_ out of character for visiting gentry. 

  


Then there were the ‘lap tops’ and ‘scanners’ and ‘magic stenographers’ and ‘chords’ and all sorts of other things they pulled out of their bags, chatting all the while. Apparently some Muggle sporting event and subsequent ‘Prince’ that had appeared had been all anyone talked about. Then the questions turned to he and Harry as they’d gotten to business.

  


“How long have you and Harry been together?”

  


“A little over three years,” he answered Cynthia as she organized three stacks of something called print outs. Such even crisp edges to the palest parchment, like the pages of a book. They were held together with a black and silver clip of some kind.

  


“The home study is scheduled for next week?” He nodded. He was nervous about that, having a stranger in their home to judge them. It being someone from the Irish Ministry and under Loreen's thumb didn’t help his nerves. He felt the book he had in his expanded coat pocket for comfort. _Pride and Prejudice_. He’d decided to give it another shot, now knowing it was one of Hermione’s favorite books. He found he was liking it more as his 200th muggle novel instead of his 4th or 5th.

  


“You work as a curse breaker right? For a boutique company?” _Boutique?_ That was a funny sort of way to describe the firm.

  


“Yes, and I don’t take any objects home. Usually only case files or texts on curses. We keep them in a warded drawer in the study.” They’d practiced those answers a dozen times, so often he felt they were more study partners in school than romantic partners.

  


“And Rebecca’s birthday is?”

  


“November 12th,” Harry said, sweeping in with the groceries and the case files, sending both respectively to their places while he paused to peck Draco on the cheek. Then he swept away before he could get in a private word and started putting away the groceries. He felt very separate from Harry, as if they were shouting across rooms instead of speaking, a gnawing feeling more and more familiar these days. He tried to shake it away; tried and failed.

  


Soon the desks were covered in the case files as well, two cork boards being conjured up and items being tacked to them. Draco barely even noticed Harry sitting next to him. It was easier to focus on that than his feelings on the matter, they would soon fade to the background anyway. 

  


At times like these, he’d wished he’d taken even a year of Muggle Studies, just so he wasn’t lost when they referred to their pieces of plastic as _Lap-tops_ and asked about _Why-Phi_ or _Ether-net_. Their suitcases, full of clothing and likely other wonders, sat abandoned at the top of the stairs as the Americans were so focused on their task. 

  


The boards began to fill up as the sun continued its arc across the sky, shifting the light until they needed the artificial ones. Cynthia used an odd pen to jot down notes on the white board, asking questions like ‘MCPA precedent?’ and ‘HP/DM score?’ and ‘Copy of ‘constitution’?’ Her handwriting was full of loops, old fashioned and rather beautiful, starkly different from the blocky, architectural script of her compatriot. The pen was in bright blue on white.

  


Thomas has even gotten a ‘call’ on a smaller piece of black plastic, answering in short sentences to someone he called sir. It was surreal and entrancing. Like viewing a sort of elaborate play. 

  


_Americans._ was all Draco could think. 

  


* * *

  


After another hour and a half, Cynthia finally stood up, cracking her knuckles. Her suit jacket had been discarded to the back of the chair, a bit shapeless in the shoulders, and now she stood up, examining what they had done. She was wearing a faintly patterned purple blouse, fashionably tucked into her high-waisted trousers, cutting a figure that wouldn’t look out of place of those black and white films that played on the Telly at times, only much larger than the shrunken people and in full color. Thomas had another one of those pens that he was clicking as he looked up from his notes. He’d also lost his suit jacket, now leaning back in his chair, his sleeves rolled up and showing a smattering of black ink on his forearms. Draco watched for movement but there was none. They appeared to be muggle tattoos. He wondered what sort of people could get into Mage-USA, what families and connections mattered out of 16 million.

  


“I think we’ve made a good start here, Tommy,” she finally said. “We have a list of what to tackle next, yes?” Her reading glasses were holding her hair back, an impromptu headband.

  


“Yeah, from the case file information, all the way to the case law and the other side’s lawyer,” he answered back, finally stopping the clicking and dropping the pen to the table on top of them. It was starting to get annoying, even as a new sound to Draco.

  


“Then I think it’s high time we have dinner, yes?” She turned to them, smiling again.

  


“Yes,” Draco responded promptly, standing up with a bit of wince. He wasn’t sure he’d moved in a while, “We assumed you’d want something simple and to turn in early.”

  


“Yeah,” Harry added, “There’s a great little Italian place up the high street that we’ve been to a few times, nice and cozy.”

  


“Ooh, Italian,” Cynthia said, pulling her jacket back on, “I’m excited.” Thomas also stood up, with a bit of a smile on, contrary to his usual lack of one when they were working.

  


“Italian food is her favorite.” She laughed back at him, lightly punching his arm, friendly and familiar. Draco blinked. _They were certainly chummy for being non-aurors._

  


“That’s only because you think pizza supersedes any other food groups,” she told them, “Though it’s charitable to call deep dish a pizza—”

  


“Thin pizza just can’t hold up to it,” he interjected, giving the Brits a grin. Harry returned it. Draco has always envied his fast friendships. “But Italian is good, reminds me of the Little Italy back home.”

  


“It’s one of ours as well,” Harry said, pulling on his cloak as well.

  


“Is there really a whole town of Italians in America?” It would fit in with what Hermione’s notes about the country said.

  


“Nah,” Thomas drawled, “In Chicago—” and that word seemed to stretch beyond its letters, “—We have over a hundred different neighborhoods, and some of them are named after the immigrants that moved there, Greektown, Andersonville for the Swedes, Ukrainian Village, Chinatown, Lithuanian Plaza, Pilsen, Polish Village. It may not be as ‘fancy’ as New York but that’s what you get for being the city of broad shoulders.”

  


“And the city of braggarts as well,” Cynthia interjected as they stepped out into the light of dusk. It had cooled off a bit from earlier in the day but was still fairly warm for the summer. Thomas laughed shaking his head. “Well, lay on MacDuff. Lead us to food.” Harry even laughed at that and Draco smiled at him.

  


“So do you both live in Chicago?” Draco asked as they set a far more relaxed pace to the restaurant.

  


“I live in Washington DC, near where the magical governmental buildings are, but I’m from Vermont,” Cynthia said, which were more words that didn’t make much sense to Draco, “Though I feel like I’m getting tired of living in the swamp¹—the weather is god-awful in the summer, so this is really nice.”

  


“I split my time between the field office in Chicago and DC, so I can keep up with all the politicians,” Thomas added, “The weather is nice here so far. Less rainy than I thought it would be.”

  


“It’s been fairly hot compared to past summers,” Draco said, hand sliding into Harry’s for comfort in this sort of small talk, as Harry added, “Yeah, we’ve been getting a lot worse summers, to the point where we’re thinking about getting a cooling unit.”

  


“Really? You don’t have AC?” Draco shook his head. “Damn, I don’t know if I could survive the summer without AC. Way too humid.”

  


“Truly,” Cynthia agreed.

  


“So you said this neighborhood is Temple?” Harry nodded. “And where is it in relation to London?”

  


“It’s part of Greater London,” Harry said, “So just outside of the city centre, in a sense, and near Temple Church and adjacent to Westminster.”

  


“Is that a palace or am I mixing that up with place where Big Ben is at?” Cynthia asked, dodging deftly a group of young people out for a bite before hitting a ‘club,’ as Harry would say.

  


“So Westminster is a palace but it’s also the place where Parliament and Big Ben is.” Draco had a vague recollection of which buildings were which, but most of his topography consisted of bookstores, restaurants and the pubs they visited. 

  


“Huh, that’s fascinating—We should really take a city tour if we have time, Tommy, maybe one with Segways that I’ve been hearing about.”

  


“You could not _pay_ me a million dollars to get on one of those.”

  


“Where’s your sense of adventure kid?!” _Why were Americans so loud?_ A few people were staring across the road. He was going to need a drink soon, pity his poor liver.

  


“Here we are,” Harry interjected neatly, saving them all from embarrassment, opening the door for them, letting them file in and then ducking around them to talk to the hostess. They were led to the back of the restaurant, near a quiet table that was their usual when they ate here, this time four instead of two. It was time for dinner.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ = this is actually not a political comment—most major cities, weirdly enough, are built over former swamp/marshland (Chicago, New York, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, London, to name a few) DC just happens to be the one she lives in and being further south, has much warmer weather, particularly compared to Chicago. Last year, it hit -51F (-46C) with the windchill, though it topped out at about -19F (-28C)/-21F (-29C) without it in the winter (average in Jan is usually 23F) and then our high was 97F/36C in July, which is hot but we've hit 105 in the past ten years so I'm not complaining lol.
> 
> Cynthia Wallis is based, in name, on Wallis Simpson, who caused an abdication on the British throne and then Tommy is just your standard, scruffy Buddy Holly looking second generation Polish American from Chicago who hates New York style pizza with a passion. I think I’ve met like 40 guys like Tommy since moving to Chicago myself, so it was the perfect thing to toss in as her assistant on this case.
> 
> Another fun fact, when you live in a major city in America, and it’s got a sense of community around that city, you consider yourself a member of that city above that state, which is something I feel daily living in Chicago. Turns out, Fall Out Boy was right the whole time. Can 100% recommend the city and it’s hundreds of beautiful neighborhoods though, walking around here is delightful.
> 
> Also also: any time I had a meeting with the folks in our UK office, the first thing we’d spend about 5 minutes talking about on our weekly calls was the weather. Turns out living in a place where you can have 3.5in of snow on Halloween (our coldest since 1871) and then wear shorts over the weekend because you're back in the 60s/70s is fascinating conversation.
> 
> And if you want to hear Draco’s actual disdain, please [watch this clip](https://youtu.be/oVRb2Vh7OXE), thank you.
> 
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright  
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
>   3. [Beat Down - Mister Heavenly](https://youtu.be/y7vEpBjsNh4)
>   4. [Come on Eileen - Save Ferris](https://youtu.be/HCzWPBR30Nk)
>   5. [Tenderness - General Public](https://youtu.be/6XegL32Btzs)
>   6. [Water Flow - Klyne](https://youtu.be/XkqlTk-YjHo)
>   7. [Amerika - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/8P1utNegyt4)
>   8. * [Fuckabout - Drenge](https://youtu.be/uEZ7EFJaO_8) * 
>   9. * [Medusa in Chains - The Fratellis](https://youtu.be/nQH-kGItVqQ) * 
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A Dinner Intermezzo_

It felt like the sort of day that would never end. By now, they (mostly the Americans) had worked their way through bread and through some appetizers, now waiting on their main dishes with glasses of rich Spanish Rioja on the table.

  


So far the conversation had been relatively light. Things that wouldn’t come up normally in the files: 

  


“How did you two meet?” Cynthia asked, after thanking the waiter for a refill.

  


“Oh,” Harry perked up, smiling at Draco, “We knew each other in school—“

  


“—Enemies at first sight, no thanks to my younger self—“ which causes the table to break into laughter, almost as if this were a comedic play.

  


“—But then after, we kept running into each other and after a few false starts, we decided to give it a go.”

  


“ _You_ decided to give it a go,” Draco retorted, straightening his silverware, playing his part perfectly, “What he’s not letting you know is that he thought we were dating for a month, despite having never asked.” The two Americans laughed at the punchline, he was getting good at setting up the familiar joke,

  


“But it all worked out in the end,” Harry added, setting his warm brown hand over Draco’s. 

  


“It did,” he said, unable to look away. Cynthia beamed and Tommy looked happy at that. 

  


“Rarely do I get to say this about the cases we take on,” she said, “But it’s just so nice to see two people in love.” 

  


“Oh, thank you,” Draco says, flustered, just as Harry cuts in with, “Thanks, we practice at it daily.” Sending the table into another series of chuckles. There’s a small lull in conversation as the waiter comes by to take away empty plates that once held crisp bruschetta and meatballs in a rich sauce. He was really going to have to get in the habit of walking, maybe with Rebecca to the park or something, did muggle-raised children enjoyed parks? While Harry never seemed to put on enough weight for Draco to stop worrying, he himself seemed to be developing a bit of softness in places. 

  


They digressed for a moment into weather, comparing the coolness of the summer and describing the features of similarities of their native cities (rivers, they all had them nearby though all admitted swimming in them was a poor idea) and the differences of lakes or ocean.

  


“How big is it?”

  


“Lake Michigan?” Tommy answered, seeing Harry nod, “It’s the second biggest in the country—actually, from what I remember last time I was in the Chicago History Museum, I think you could fit the whole of the England or something in it, both in depth and size.”

  


“Gods, that’s massive—has anyone tried to do something stupid like swim across it?”

  


“Buncha times—” Tommy laughed and Cynthia cut in: “Never let it be doubted that American’s are fool enough to try anything at least a dozen times, just in case they get lucky and are the first.” Even Draco laughed at that, Harry watching him, delighted at the sound.

  


“How serious were you when you said you were childhood enemies?” Tommy asks with a wicked grin, expressions loosened by the atmosphere, watching their softness over candlelight. “Because there’s more than one girl I got into arguments with in high school that seem to keep popping up in my life and my Ma keeps expecting me to settle down soon.”

  


“Enemy enough to nearly get each other expelled a few times, on purpose,” Draco said politely dodging the deeper point, tearing away his gaze.

  


“And nearly kill each other, as well,” Harry added, with his lips loosened by the wine, while he stiffened just slightly, remembering the slashing of unknown magic just faintly, just as much as was sure Harry could feel fiendfyre at his back. “Even before the war.”

  


“But in the end, we grew up to be different people, and became better for it and better for each other.” He was certain he’d said something like that when being interrogated at Sunday dinner at the Weasley’s, he was certain it would suffice now. 

  


And it wasn’t untrue—he was not the same person that people knew in school and shortly thereafter, it had taken time and a period of isolation and now, seeing it all laid before him, both options, he was never going back.

  


“So explain to me this whole Voldemort thing,” Tommy said, gesturing with a piece of oiled bread. In any other restaurant, particularly a Wizard one, a hush would have fallen over at the name. In fact, it was only by virtue that Harry had dusted the creature and Draco had spent so long in his company that neither had flinched. “We don’t often get much intel out of the UK.” He wasn’t surprised, knowing what he knew now, or rather, how little he knew about the rest of the world.

  


“How to describe...” Draco started, trying to figure out the most diplomatic way of continuing. His unheld hand, where it led to the numb and scarred white tattoo burned warm, just a little. He could feel the same rush of blood in his cheeks and his ears. How did one adequately describe what otherwise would be defined as a genocidal maniac that they only called coquettishly a ‘dark wizard.’ 

  


“Voldemort,” Harry said, weariness in his shoulders as his Auror persona slid back into place, a second lid that seemed to sap all his energy, “Was a homicidal, genocidal dark wizard.” His voice was firm but detached, calm but quiet. Through their linked hands, Draco could swear he could feel the thrum of power in him, the power over Death he held, both great and terrible if he so chooses. Soothed by the coolness in his hands the whispered promises that _he_ would never so choose. “He was a half blood man who thought he could outsmart death and get rid of muggles all in one go. Non-magical people,” he added, seeing their blank looks. “He ended up taking over the government after his return and went on a reign of terror for a year or so, killing tens of thousands, both muggle and wizard, along with his followers, until he was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts in ‘98.”

  


“Oh... Jesus, that sounds terrible, a blood purist,” Thomas replied, looking a bit off kilter. “We’ve has a few of those crop up out in the boonies, but, uh, it never seemed to gain as much traction as some of the other hate groups. But yours just sounds... Like Wizard Hitler.” He finished, a lame attempt at cutting the tension. Draco’s stomach turned, now, seeing Hermione’s neat penmanship flash by, fully understanding the comparison. Six _million_ or more against a hundred thousand, he still couldn’t grasp the numbers of it. He had been one of them and while he left it behind, the world would remember. What part he had had in it and how many of that number were his. Unfettered darkness creeping up, a tangle of plants lurking nearby, waiting to pull more in. He wondered what they would think of him after they read through the to-be-completed parental fitness surveys.

  


“I’m sorry I brought it up—I was just curious.” Curiosity was natural, the reason why muggles often stopped to view traffic accidents on the road, little ‘cameras’ coming out to capture the scene. He wondered if Rebecca would have the same questions that Thomas did. If she would ask the same questions and then accept his demure answers. Would he become his father, hiding dark wizards under the guise of work? He hoped not.

  


Harry shrugged, answering for them both seeing that Draco wasn’t responding, tone detached, “It’ll be almost a decade in the past soon. No point in getting upset over ghosts now.” Thomas went to open his mouth with his broad accent and rude interjections but Cynthia shut him up with a look. 

  


Luckily the waiter came by dropping off plates of steaming pasta, interrupting that depressing train of thought. There was a general murmuring of tastes and reactions to the food. Draco polished off another glass of wine, glad to have a distraction. They’d hardly ever had pasta at the manor and his mother had always preferred buttery or dry white wines, so it was easy to push all of that away, let it drift back under the endless churning ocean in his mind.

  


Dinner would be fine. 

  


“So, Thomas, what do you do in Mage-USA?” He finally said as the murmuring lulled, so as not to comment on their lack of manners. Where he and Harry where using both the fork and knife in tandem, the Americans seemed to only pick up one utensil at once—very odd. 

  


“Tommy,” the man corrected goodnaturedly, adjusting his glasses with a free hand before gesturing with his empty fork, “And technically I work for FMI, Federal Magical Investigations. It’s basically the FBI but for Enchanted.” Thomas grinned. 

  


“So like an auror?” Harry asked, equally unaware of what the FMI or its Muggle counterpart, FBI, was.

  


“Is that the wizarding word for a cop?”

  


“More or less.”

  


“Then yeah,” he mused, “It’s sort of like an auror but at the federal level. Legally, I’m blind as a bat without my glasses, so I mostly work with the other egg heads.” _Egg heads??_ Draco mouthed to Harry who shrugged.

  


“He’s being modest, Tommy actually works specifically in the Kidnapping, Ransom and Smuggling group, or KRS, as they’re known,” though she pronounced it more as Curse, with a hard c sound, rather than the initialism as FMI had had. 

  


“How many departments are there?”

  


“Hmm, well, you have to remember, we only deal in federal crimes, so it’s all the more serious stuff than what the cops handle—so we have a whole division on Malicious Uses of Unenchanted Objects, basically anyone who enchants objects for nefarious purposes, there’s my division KRS, then there’s the Unenchanted Enchanted Relations group—they’d be the ones to handle dark wizards. Then for the rest of us, we work in conjunction with existing departments in the FBI, Cyber Intelligence, Terrorist Screening, and so on.” 

  


“Seems like all the crimes for the federal level are quite intense.”

  


“Exactly,” he nodded, “So we handle anything a state can’t through their police force or if the crimes cross into other states or into breaking federal laws. Like if you were dealing in cursed objects and selling them without a license, that would be a state police matter. We would get involved if you started a crime syndicate selling those cursed items globally.” Perhaps Draco had broken more than just moral laws in the past—he wasn’t unaware of any issues selling items across Britain. _What was another to add to the pile,_ he surmised bitterly.

  


“It’s interesting stuff,” Harry said, “Though my days in law enforcement are far behind me, I’m sure you have a lot of stories to tell.”

  


“Too many,” Tommy laughed. “And I’m trying to get my master’s from U of I in linguistics— there’s a lot of great stuff people have been doing with idiolects that I want to use with some of the hate groups I mentioned—even the Unenchanted use it! They caught the Unabomber in ‘96 using all the letters he wrote and compared them to his manifesto. It’s real fascinating stuff. And as part of my courses, I’m doing a work study with Cynthia here, which is why we’re both here.” Draco only understood half of it, unaware of what most of it meant. Just more nonsense words to add to the pile. He could feel a headache coming on. 

  


“As you know,” she said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth, “We deal with many different dialects and language barriers in UMNAS, so it’s a great opportunity to look at how we try to solve the wicked problems of today with practicality.”

  


“UMNAS seems really complicated,” Harry told her, the auror voice long gone, “I can’t imagine the amount of work that goes into it.” 

  


“Mountains of it—“

  


“And not little mountains, the big ones.” Thomas added making them all laugh, though Draco was finding it harder and harder to care for the small talk and fake the laughter.

  


“But that’s why we have interns to help us digitize everything, we want to make it far easier to file and find information since we’re now in the digital era.”

  


Harry nodded, making sure to be eating so _he_ didn’t have to show how lost he was but Draco’s head was spinning. _Scanning?_ _Digital Era ?_

  


“Sounds like fascinating work,” he settled on, politely continuing the conversation, sipping his wine, “How long do you think such a project will take?” He was certain he could the headache building in his temples.

  


“It’s a bit of Sisyphean task, in a sense, the second we start to get caught up, there’s more to add—but that’s why I try and focus on more concrete projects that have more reasonable goals.”

  


“Goals are important,” Draco responded, though he was fairly certain he’d never once had a conversation about goals with Blaise, who was, in effect, his supervisor.

  


“I think so too,” she smiled at him, “Makes it all more worthwhile.” He returned the smile minutely, letting Draco Malfoy, heir to Malfoy Manor, take over in his responses, an easy disguise to throw on so he wouldn’t have to think as hard or exacerbate the headache. 

  


“Oh,” Thomas interjected, “Tell him about Project Circumference—Yous guys’ll love it, it’s such a cool idea.” He looked even more excited than Cynthia did to talk about it, if that was possible. It was almost a complete departure from the stoic man who they’re picked up from the ‘air port’.

  


“Right,” perky and eager to talk she continued, “So this is something I came up with when I was taking my daughter to Girl Scouts—it’s a scouting group that encourages young women to get involved with their community and discover their inner strengths,” she digressed for their inner benefit. Draco idly wondered what Rebecca’s hobbies were and if she did something like that. It seemed a bit mundane. “And the former director a while ago, started using this new management system.

  


You see, what you do is organize everything around concentric circles, from the lowest level of the organization to the highest level. Imagine it like this, you have a wide variety of bracelets on a wrist, and each of the beads is a different person. And instead of hierarchy, you have bracelet beads that pass information up and down the arm of bracelets. We have so many different districts and schools in all three countries, we need a better decentralized and yet centralized form of communication, so that way even the principal of a tiny school in Chiapas, Mexico feels as heard as a science teacher in a giant school of 10,000 students in California and as a Québécois special needs student aid would feel heard. It’s a complete departure from what we do now, to have these circles of management—“

  


“Which is why you call it Project Circumference?” Harry posited, stealing one of Draco’s gnocchi. It was a common occurrence so he didn’t even blink, but the throbbing in his head made it so he didn’t give him a half-hearted glare as he usually would. Harry didn’t notice the lack of response.

  


“Exactly!” She beamed and Harry looked as if he’d been given ten house points for the right answer. “It’s tough project, there’s a lot of very old fashioned people we have in the department and a lot of, well, recalcitrant superintendents who think it’s all some new age, feelings-based voodoo. But I think it could really improve the student’s lives and that makes it all worthwhile, I think.”

  


“It’s a great cause, I really hope it works out.” Harry answered for them. Draco quickly finished his wine again, hoping it would dull the headache. 

  


“I can’t imagine working with kids all day though, you really do the hard work here, Harry.”

  


“I won’t lie and say it’s easy, but I couldn’t possible see myself doing anything else,” he said, a soft smile on his face. Absently, as he traced the tines of his unused salad fork, he wondered if he himself was happy at work. He supposed so. No where near as happy as Harry, but that was his lot in life. _Thursday’s child has far to go..._ He often wondered if he had been actually born on a Wednesday and no one had ever told him. 

  


“It’s always good to find what you like. What did you study in school?” Thomas leaned in, eager to find out more. They were so inquisitive, it was borderline intrusive.

  


“Just the usual, though technically my degree was given after the fact due to the war. I’m not sure what I would have gone for in NEWTs.”

  


“Which are?”

  


“Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests,” Harry supplies with a grin. “They’re our highest form of examination through Hogwarts.”

  


“No!” Cynthia gasped. “Did they really name it that?”

  


“They did indeed.”

  


“That’s just cruel.” Thomas added.

  


“You don’t have weird names for your school tests in America?”

  


“Well, the closet we get is that our version of the GED—a high school or primary education diploma—has a different name for each of the three countries. We have the BEEVD, the Basic Enchanted Education Evaluation Diploma, then in Canada there’s the MGED, Magie et Générale Examen Diplôme, and in Mexico they have the MTC or the Magia Títlo Calificado. However, most of the students call it the BEEV or the Beaver, now that the internet is quite popular.”

  


“It used to be called the GGED, right?” Thomas asked.

  


“Right, that was back before we changed the legal term from Giftless to Unenchanted, so we changed the degree name to fit the new norm.” Cynthia politely folded her napkin and set it next to her empty plate. Thankfully, it looked like everyone was finishing and the two Americans were looking a bit tired, Thomas hiding a yawn behind his hand.

  


“I’ll get the check,” Draco offered, motioning to the waiter to get the bill, “Seems like it’s time to turn in early.” His head throbbed with every word.

  


“Jet lag,” Cynthia added with a tired smile, “Always hits when you least expect it.”

  


“At least we’ll be on the right time zone.” 

  


“Definitely.” 

  


They lapsed into more small talk while Draco finished off his glass of wine, grimacing as he tasted a bit of sediment that had made it into the bottle. It didn’t help the headache. Then there was the counting out of muggle money to the tune of— “Oh you don’t use the standard currency?” “That must be difficult” — that Harry handled before everyone was standing up and filing out of the restaurant.

  


Harry took the lead, maneuvering the group through the other people heading out into the night for a late dinner, Draco taking up the rear while he pointed out different things on their way, familiarizing their guests with the area. The cooler air outside was helping with his head but it also served to separate him from the group. Before him was the people with the brightest, eager lights and he their lagging shadow. _How would this look to a stranger?_

  


Then there was the long, pleasantry filled goodbye. He barely gave answers outside of what was polite, running automatically based on years of experience. Repeated ad nauseam.

  


Then finally finally _finally_ they were freed and heading home, Harry chattering beside him while they aparated and then walked the rest of the way home. Whereas the conversation through dinner had made him irritated and given him a headache, the smooth and cadenced speech next to him was soothing, punctuated by introspective pauses that he only had to nod or shake his head to. What sort of inferences Harry made, what he’d thought of the food and their strategies. He bounced back and forth between topics easily, his excitement palpable, despite his muted tone. Their house was exactly as they’d left it, just a little too small and full of their things. It felt better than any spell, just knowing they were blessedly _home._

  


“Maybe we should get one of those welcome mats before the studies next week? And maybe some candles, those would add a feminine touch…” Harry rattled off a few more ideas, hanging up their cloaks and setting the keys on the hook.

  


Draco only murmured a few agreements in response, quickly getting changed and into bed so he could rest his head. Harry followed suit, talking to him still through the ensuite.

  


He entangled himself around Draco as he got in, smelling of mint and home, as the paler man burrowed into the hold. _Things would be better tomorrow_ , he thought to himself, listening to the sounds of Harry finishing his thoughts, a gentle rumble at this close distance, like distant thunder in their dark room. There was a pause as Harry thought through today, the little victories they’d already achieved.

  


“I think it’s going to go well.”

  


Harry didn’t even notice that Draco was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was NOT planned, I just had more to say lol and THEN I got stuck in Florida for another two days, so dearest apologies for being late.  
> More good news, the break itself actually got me out of my stuck writer's block and I have the rest of this now in detailed outline, so I should be able to finish on schedule.  
> The song for this chapter is perfect though. Love me some Hockey Dad. It doesn’t hurt that this song feels like you’re chasing a summer storm home or having a manic episode.  
> Small references to one of my favorite tracks from the 'superposition' story, the first in this couplet, “Bottles and Cans” by McCafferty:  
>  _And I am sorry, that I am not the same kid_
> 
> _I was back in school, but I have finally changed_
> 
> _It took a long, long time and I lost most my friends_
> 
> _But I am never coming back_  
>  The person Cynthia is referring to is 104 year old Frances Hasselbein, who fell into managing the Girl Scouts of America and sort of popularized a form of management called Circular Management, which is exactly as Cynthia describes. Frances basically only took the jobs she took because people asked and really needed her and sort of fell into an amazing career. Fascinating stuff and fascinating life for a woman who by her own admission never intended to do much more than raise a family and never went to college but now has 23 honorary degrees and an even more fascinating life story.  
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright  
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
>   3. [Beat Down - Mister Heavenly](https://youtu.be/y7vEpBjsNh4)
>   4. [Come on Eileen - Save Ferris](https://youtu.be/HCzWPBR30Nk)
>   5. [Tenderness - General Public](https://youtu.be/6XegL32Btzs)
>   6. [Water Flow - Klyne](https://youtu.be/XkqlTk-YjHo)
>   7. [Amerika - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/8P1utNegyt4)
>   8. [Fuckabout - Drenge](https://youtu.be/uEZ7EFJaO_8)
>   9. [Medusa in Chains - The Fratellis](https://youtu.be/nQH-kGItVqQ)
>   10. * [Babes - Hockey Dad](https://youtu.be/2_n0cQasdt8) * 
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


	6. Chapter 6

Abstractly, Draco knew who Liza Wentworth and John Abernathy were. He’d seen them in Harry’s office and dropping off case files and shadowing him on the rare cases where his and Harry’s jobs aligned. And he knew the basic facts about them, enough to where if he had to report them missing to an aurora, he probably could do it. 

  


John was a tall man, easily as tall as Ronald, with deep brown skin, though not as rich and luminous as Hermione’s, with a shaved head and a single pierced ear. He had kind eyes and a deep voice and he might have been distantly related to someone Harry knew from his time at university, but Draco could never remember who. He joined after Liza did and was considered the most junior member of the team.

  


Liza was the opposite, cornsilk hair, hazel eyes, barely coming up to Harry’s chin and cursed like a sailor when there weren’t children around. She said her family was here by way of her mother and by way of Poland and had a boisterous laugh, filling any room she was in. She had joined first, marched right up and had demanded a chance to prove herself to Harry Potter, who had graciously ‘accepted.’ Where John was steadfast and eager to tell off aurors with biting commentary that he’d hidden behind his solemn demeanor, Liza was fast, darting in and darting out of scenes, moving in a flippant way that hid how upset she could be. She recently had chopped off most of her hair after someone on the tube had put gum in it, she told him when he had blinked at her appearance.

  


Together, they sort of fit rather well when Harry stood in the middle of them, their range, for a small department impressive. Whichever order you put them in, you could find an ascending or descending pattern, a soothing practice he had picked up from his time spent strolling through bookshelves in the library. 

  


Which is why, in Harry’s rather cramped office (it wasn’t so much made for four grown adults as it were one maybe two adults and a child) between the second and third floor of the Ministry while Harry caught them up to speed.

  


Liza and John were always very familiar with Draco, judging by how their faces lit up when greeting him and commenting on current events as if they were friends, and it only sort of settled in now, that they knew about him because they knew about Harry. There was no lack of casual friendship between the three, the kind where you could ask them to water your plants while you were away or pick up a lunch if you had to work through yours. An easy thing that just seemed to come naturally to Harry and seemed foreign to him.

  


Draco had tuned out while Harry walked through the case, but now he shook himself out of his thoughts, to see what they needed to do next.

  


“So it’s a fairly standard case, in so much that we’re following the same procedure we always do.”

  


“Talk with the couple individually, evaluate the home, evaluate the child,” Liza stated helpfully.

  


“Exactly,” Harry smiled in approval, “Only because of the Irish Ministry’s involvement—“

  


“They’re completing the child evaluation and accompanying us for interviews and performing their own the home study,” John cut in, “Does this mean that we’re both following the same format for all three?”

  


Harry nodded, proud of his apprentices, “There’s very little variation between the paperwork, so there should be no surprises.” Draco held in his opinions, as there was _very_ much different on this case, being that they were involved. “And you can’t have me check over your work, so please verify,” and he looked at Liza with that as she playfully stuck her tongue out at him, “with each other to make sure you don’t leave anything out. No sugarcoating, no omissions, no white lies. This is by the book through and through.”

  


“I have never once lied on paperwork and I never will.” Liza declared with a brilliant smile.

  


“Unless we found out you’re secretly hiding contraband in your house,” John snarked. They all laughed at some shared joke, from a case Draco didn’t remember hearing of. _Friends with your colleagues._ This seemed to be the pattern here and with the Americans, both of which had barely come up for air in building their case, even shooing off Harry, who was eager to know what was going on, and Hermione, who lived and breathed research. He felt like an interloper. _Perhaps three adults would fit better than four here._

  


“Draco,” Harry looked to him, “Any questions for John and Liza?”

  


He paused, giving it some thought, wondering if he could delay the inevitable. Then shook his head. “It seems straightforward to me.” 

  


“Always the conversationalist,” Liza quipped with a wink, standing up with the rest of them, “That’ll be good for the witness box.”

  


“Always a good strategy,” John added, and to Harry he said “We’ll have the interview room on three ready when you are.” They both left, chatting about some muggle movie they’d both seen, something about spies who’d lost their memory and had gotten revenge. It didn’t sound familiar to him but they seemed to be friends outside of work as well. He was getting ready to follow suit when Harry stopped him, shutting the door.

  


They looked at each other for a moment and in that moment Draco was certain that for all the creases in his suit and the freshness of his robes, Harry would be the only one to see the cracks forming in him. 

  


“I think you’ve picked an odd day to hide away in your office and snog, Harry,” he said, deflecting so he could snort and call him some sort of teasing name and they could go up to be torn to shreds. Well, he would. Harry would likely walk away with a glowing review.

  


“Very funny,” Harry replied, with a dry tone, giving him a thin smile, “You seem to be in good spirits.” Luckily, he couldn’t hear the constant racing of Draco’s heart, a failing of being the Chosen One, he supposed. “You know what to say right? And you remember what Cynthia said, trying to keep your answers as brief as possible.”

  


“I remember,” and Draco was barely keeping the frustration from leaking into his voice. He very dearly wanted to pick a fight, but knew that people were waiting on them. At least Harry would go first, that way he hoped they would be a bit more lenient on his crimes.

  


“Good,” Harry said, quickly kissing his cheek, “We’ll snog next time,” he promised in a carefree voice before they headed out and up to the third floor.

  


“I can’t wait,” he replied sarcastically, dreading every step closer to the interview rooms. He could easily remember the hours he spent in there, years ago, waiting for the aurors to collect his statements prior to trial. He remembered how Mother couldn’t stop silently crying, the venom in Father’s eyes as he watched his son tell the whole story, start to finish, of his involvement. Draco knew his rights, he knew that by giving a statement, dressed primly in black with his favorite cloak with bags under his eyes so deep that no glamour could fully cover them, that it could implicate himself or others. He remembered being very cold, even though there was no legal way a dementor could be in the room and it was only his own conscience parasitically eating at him. And he knew that when the whole story was out, he’d be punished and, even more so, it would damn Father to prison, perhaps for life. But he knew he had to do it. He was tired of running. And he’d rather he and Mother have a chance someday to return to normal.

  


Harry said something to him as he ducked into the room and he knew he didn’t even react, so lost in the cobwebs of his memories that he didn’t even offer the reassuring smile he had planned. He couldn’t see into the room, not like the one he’d been in, so instead he sat on the hard wooden chairs and looked down on his hands as he clenched them together over and over again. They’d grown a bit older in the time since he’d been here last but that was okay. It was going to be fine.

  


No one was locking him up this time at least.

  


* * *

  


It could have been an hour or maybe four, but it seemed to pass all too fast because Harry was standing in front of him and stretching.

  


“Are those chairs as uncomfortable as I remember?” 

  


“Exceedingly, but I suppose it’s to make the criminals truly regret what they did.” Draco’s voice was unsteady as Harry half chuckled before sitting next to him, bumping their shoulders together.

  


“Hey,” he said quietly and just for him, “It’s going to be okay.” _It wasn’t,_ but he appreciated the lie all the same.

  


“Thanks,” the blond replied, a useless pleasantry and he stood up to face fate. He didn’t want any of this but he would be damned if he didn’t face it will the all the dignity he could possess.

  


In the room, Liza and John and a woman in dark green robes, very on brand for the uniform of the Irish Ministry. Harry never required his apprentices to wear any particular robes or to even wear robes if they didn’t want to, and so both seemed to have pulled them out for consistency purposes for this very official work. But gone where the soothing patterns he was used to, the woman throwing it off with her dark, serious eyes, red painted lips and deep auburn hair.

  


“Welcome, Mr. Malfoy,” she stated, her accent thick and her tone even, “I’m Cathleen Walsh with the Department of Child and Family Home Services in the Irish Ministry.”

  


“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, sitting down and hoping he’s not shaking too much. It feels just as cold in here as it did before, but he’s certain it’s just a memory. “Liza, John.” He nods to both of them. Cathleen marks something down on her papers in front of her and he hopes he hasn’t fucked it up already.

  


“Well, let’s get started then.”

  


They start with the easy questions—can he verify his employment, his home, his identity. Then what Harry does, where he lives, his identity, and if there are any other people in the household that they need to verify or interview. John asks these in succession and they confer that it matches what Harry says.

  


So far, he’s passed with flying colors. _Outstanding._ There’s a morbid fascination with the spectacle of failure he’s about to go through, like passing an auto collision.

  


“Now,” Cathleen switches to a new page of paperwork and opens her notepad to a fresh page, “Have you ever been incarcerated?” She makes some notes.

  


Draco swallows hard, wishing they’d brought in water, “Yes.” The pen stops.

  


“Can you describe as to the reason why?” He knows, objectively, why they need to ask. They need to know if he’s been into anything that could cause undo harm to a child.

  


“Yes,” he pauses again, remembering the exact legal language as if it were a brand he wore, “I was convicted in 1998 for crimes during the Ministry Involvement Trials.” Cathleen looked a bit confused. "The trials for crimes related to the war in 1997 and 1998," he clarifies, remembering that she might not know all of their history the way he doesn't know hers.

  


“Can you described the crimes you were convicted of?”

  


He answered, rote from what the judges had said: “Aiding and abetting treasonous behavior, aiding and abetting blood purity or magically motivated harassment, assault and public disorder and,” he swallowed again, watching both John avoid eye contact with him while Liza stared at him, “And aiding and abetting conspiracy to commit murder.” He had been lucky, the Wizegamot had told him, that they were only giving him ‘aiding and abetting,’ which, while was charged similarly to Treasonous Behavior, Blood Purity or Magically Motivated Harassment, Assault and Public Disorder and Conspiracy to Commit Murder, meant he would never have to admit guilt to the treason, harassment, assault and conspiracy. He would only have it on his conscience. 

  


_“You are very lucky, Mr. Malfoy, that Mr. Potter spoke so highly of your counter-intelligence work.”_ He was very lucky, though he didn’t really deserve it he was starting to realize when the carnage had settled down.

  


_I wonder what Severus would have said when he found out that people recognized me as they remembered him._

  


“I think that’s the official list,” he finished lamely. John finished his note. Liza finally stopped looking and read over his shoulder and nodded. He didn’t feel lighter for having admitted it. He only knew that it was the constant weight of his crimes, fresh and new and forever his.

  


“We will make sure to pull the reports,” he added, “To verify their accuracy.” Draco nodded, remembering he had forgotten or rather couldn’t eat breakfast this morning, his stomach twisted so poorly he wasn’t sure it would ever accept food again. 

  


“Those are… very serious crimes,” she said, “And how could we assume a child such as Rebecca would be safe in your care based on these crimes?”

  


They had talked on this, he and Harry. How he was a changed man. How he had made his penance. There’d been flashcards and very strong gin and tonics as they reviewed. He wondered what Cynthia and Thomas would think of him when they’d finally read the reports of this conversation and the trials. He wouldn’t fault them for giving up then, but he knew it would upset Harry.

  


“I’ve fully completed my time in prison, I’ve paid the reparations for the families and I now spend my time working to remove dark magic left over from the war from homes and other buildings.” The words felt stale in his mouth and he tried not to shiver. “I no longer hold the views expressed by my family and the group they were associated with and I worked very hard to do so.” Cathleen didn’t narrow her eyes but she could smell blood in the water, honing in on it as finally tuned as a hunter in the woods chasing their query. Loreen had done a fine job finding a formidable opponent for Harry and him.

  


“Blood purity or magically motivated, and she paused, reviewing her notes, “Harassment, assault and public disorder. I’m afraid we don’t have that crime in Ireland. Can you describe to me what that means?”

  


He looked to Liza and John but they both seemed fine with that line of questioning. Draco had a small epiphany then that while they both were friends with Harry, that congenial behavior didn’t necessarily extend to him and that perhaps he had misjudged the protections that the infamous Harry Potter held.

  


Thinking of gentle but honest Luna Lovegood, he tried to remember more of what the New Prophet had said in their five year retrospective and less of how she had accepted his apology. 

  


“My father was involved in a separatist group that contributed to the rise of a dark wizard and believed in magical purity for wizardkind,” he could hear his own tone, cool and detached, as easily as slipping on a mask, while his heart raced and he hated, hated his past self with a vehemence he kept for himself, “I was raised that way and kept those values until I was old enough to start baring the consequences for participating in the war and then I started to question things. I was fully free of the ideology by the time my sentence was over. I don’t believe those sorts of things any more.” He knew it _looked_ as if he were staring at her, maintaining eye contact, but all he was really focusing on was the wall behind her. He didn’t want to think on the loss of his friends, his status, his family.

  


“And you’re aware that the child in question is muggleborn?”

  


“Yes,” he says, “I’m aware Rebecca is muggleborn. I have no issues with it.”

  


“But you did.” He could feel his temper start to rise. Why did he have to keep rehashing his crimes? His just punishment? His atonement?

  


“And if I still did,” Draco said, holding his focus to her, “Then I suspect I would _also_ have a problem with living and dating a man who is also not a pure blood. Which I very much do not.” That fierce emotion he had felt in the makeshift hospital room was back again, something he couldn’t quite name, burning through him like hot sunlight on a cool day. There is silence in the room as she gazes back. But then Liza snorts and breaks the tension, making a note on the paperwork.

  


She takes over then, switching the conversation to finances and he almost relaxes. It’s easy enough to answer, things are very straightforward now.

  


For a little while.

  


“Well Mr. Malfoy,” Cathleen says after a short pause where they confer notes, Draco trying not to think of what adjectives they’re using for him, “I must say this has been one of the most… interesting interviews I’ve worked on.” _Thank fuck it’s almost over._ “I just have a few more questions.”

  


“Certainly.” He wouldn’t fuck this up for Harry now. He was almost free.

  


“Wonderful,” she told him, even though it was most certainly not. “Have you killed anyone?”

  


“No.” That one was easy.

  


“You yourself said it was a war, there were no casualties caused by you?” Draco was about to shake his head but he remembered the fire. The flying spells. The falling rubble. It came in flashes, like remembering a nightmare.

  


“I can’t be certain but, I don’t think so.” He didn’t dare look at Liza and John, worried that they could see through it all, that Harry had told them something else.

  


“Hm,” she made a note, “Are you planning on telling the child in question about your past?” The question grazed him as a fast as any spell could, sending him into a spin.

  


“Tell her?”

  


“She must, at some point, have questions about why you were incarcerated, why you did such things. It’s an honest question for a child to ask.”

  


“I suppose…” He didn’t want to see Rebecca’s expression go through the quick stages that Cathleen’s own had. The confusion, then clarity, then disgust, followed by the somber questioning look. The one that said _now why would such a quiet and polite man do something so vile._ A perfectly average and wealthy one, born into the right circumstances. “I suppose I would have to talk it over with Harry, but I assume we would tell her if she asked or if she were old enough to understand all the nuances.”

  


“Hmm, seems fairly cut and dry to me but that’s your own choice and volition then, Mr. Malfoy.” _Did I say the wrong thing?_ He felt the room grow very small and he could already see the pained and upset expression on Harry’s face as he realized that he had lost them their chance. He didn’t dare look at Liza or John, knowing they wouldn’t help him there.

  


“Now, I was wondering what your reaction would be if the child in question decided to cut ties with you and Mr. Potter at 17.”

  


“I… like leave the house?” He didn’t understand the question.

  


“Leave the house and never or rarely contact you again.” Something sharp and painful twisted in his gut. “It can be a very natural reaction for adopted or fostered children, especially if they realize their parents or foster parents are not what they seem to be.” She watched him very carefully, watching to see that old part of him rear up and prove her right. He almost wanted to let it, just for some relief from that inscrutable gaze.

  


He thought hard, wondering what his father would have done, had he still been alive. Would he have disowned him more than he already had? Gods, his father had died before even _knowing_ half of who he was. Would Rebecca do the same to him, if he were to repeat history? He wanted to say no, he would never dare, but a small part of him, a part that would probably be with him to his death bed, said _perhaps._ It was the silence that Eurydice held that had lost her from Orpheus and it was the past of himself that lurked silently behind as he tried to leave it in hell that followed him. 

  


“If she wanted to leave, I guess I would try to support her as much as I could,” he said haltingly, “I wouldn’t want to force her…her to stay or be what she wasn’t.” It was words he’d wished he’d heard. Words he only thought of at night, turning past events over and over in his mind like a lodestone, pointing his way into the murky future. 

  


“And if she didn’t want _your_ help?” He didn’t lose his perfect posture but it was a near thing. He could hear the intention. Harry would never lose Rebecca, but Draco could. Draco was the anchor, dragging in the silt, until, at some point, he would catch on something and tear the boat in two.

  


“Then, I would support…Support Harry so he could support her.”

  


“I’m glad you understand that.” Cathleen smiled. She had looked so average before. He remembered what Harry had told him about Umbridge, how she’d used blood quills and built up a kind, if a bit florid, exterior so her actions would slide below the surface like a riptide. “Well, I think that’s all the questions I had. Anyone else?”

  


He couldn’t read their expressions, his breath was coming a bit too shallowly to focus on much of anything. 

  


“I think we’re good,” John confirmed. “Thank you for coming in.” As if he had a choice. _The anchor that will tear the boat in two._ He kept repeating the words over and over in his head. Liza gave him a smile but he wondered if it were false, if all the others were. He had to leave.

  


“If you’ll excuse me,” Draco Malfoy said politely, standing up with an incline of his head while the three compared notes. He exited quietly from the room, went down the hall where Harry was busy talking to some old colleague, passing by without a trace to the washroom. A pale ghost, he was certain someone had told him long ago that Death was a pale ghost, riding on pale green horseback. He could be cutting a similar path.

  


He picked up his pace, feeling the bile rising, he hadn’t eaten breakfast consistently since this thing had started. He wasn’t sure, as he moved, if he was in his body or someone else was piloting it, driving him to his destination. Nearly slamming into the stall, he barely had time to throw the latch before he was falling over the bowl, retching and coughing up water and acid. His eyes and nose stung as he retched until there was nothing left and he was wrung out. Stinging as though his skin had been scrapped raw and salted, the burning of his dull and numb tattooed skin only a memory made real. He was still here. He was free. But the things he’d done. The things he’d let happen. Those were still there.

  


He spat once more into the toilet, flushing away the foul smelling stuff. Someone banged on the door, the the swinging door to the outside of the washroom bringing the smells of lunch and other people and he felt the bile rise again. He nearly choked on his own throat, retching again, as if his body was trying to purge itself of all of the bad things he’d done and was coming up short.

  


“Occupied,” he croaked in response, before the fist scoffed, muttered ‘pussy’ and left off to find another open bathroom in the Ministry.

  


Draco flushed the toilet again, sitting on the somewhat clean bathroom floor and looked at the damaged stall wall, waiting for his stomach to settle.

  


_If only Father could see me now,_ he half laughs, tasting only the acid in his mouth.

  


* * *

  


The next day was sunny and bright and they received a morning floo call, which Harry took while Draco tried to prepare some tea that would sooth his stomach. Harry had taken his lie in stride that the interview had gone well and it was only some poorly digested breakfast that had caused his bathroom excursion. Besides, he was busy with cleaning and fretting over the home study. Well, home _studies_ , as they were looking to buy a bigger place in Camden to account for the added person so they were viewing their current place in Pimlico, as it was most accurate, and then the new place (still in the hands of muggle solicitors) to ensure it wasn’t some sort of glorified dungeon. He had balked at that, making a snippy comment about how dungeons weren’t all that terrible, weeks ago. Now he felt barely able to muster up a weak smile to keep up his facade.

  


They hadn’t seen Cynthia or Thomas either, which was how he preferred it. He didn’t want to know what they would think. Instead, he turned further inward, ruminating on their potential reactions to the notes and transcripts delivered to them. None of them were very positive.

  


Draco was lost in these thoughts again, stirring absently the cup of pale looking breakfast tea, the honey and milk long since mixed together when a pair of long, rangy arms slipped around him and he startled, slopping hot liquid over his hand.

  


“Oh, shit, sorry—“

  


“—It was my fault,” he equivocated, sticking his hand under the tap while Harry used a towel to mop up the mess. The other man went to ask him something, undoubtedly personal, when he quickly cut in, shutting off the tap and shaking the water from his hand, “Who was on the floo?”

  


“Right, so Cynthia and Tommy are still working on the case files—there’s apparently a lot of lineage information to go through to satisfy some of the requirements of the Irish Ministry and they’ve got it nearly ready to run through. They just need to finish up some paperwork really. And then Liza is going to speak with our list of witnesses this week and once that’s filed they’ll use that as evidence as well.” Right, their list of people to vouch for them. Well, mostly for Harry. 

  


His own list had been torturously small. Mother. Blaise. And after some hesitation, his aunt. Three people. He kept a small circle and he was certain the doctors at Saint Mungo’s would have called it deficient in some way, but it was better that way. _Safer_ , he rationalized.

  


“That’s good news,” he said, drying his hand and then taking a sip of the tea. It was too sweet and too milky but it was better than continuing on an empty stomach. “Have they heard about Hogwarts?”

  


“Yeah,” Harry copied his motion and stole a drink from his cup before smiling at him, “They passed with flying colors—I mean so did St. Augustine’s, but it’s come a long way from when we went to school.“

  


“I should hope so,” he added dryly. Harry laughed, somehow able to find the light in all of this easily.

  


“Well you know Neville, once he sets his mind on something these days, he goes all in.” And it was true. The man was far different from the boy, taking reform at Hogwarts to do away with the bullying and badgering by teachers as his own personal mission. Of course, no one had been as bad as Severus had been (excluding the final year) but it was still common for teachers to make…an example of their pupils. He wondered what the rest of the old guard had thought, though most were retired at this point. “And it’s actually given them a bit of an edge over St. Augustine’s, they still use physical punishments for severe issues.”

  


“Hmm.” He wasn’t sure that he wanted to continue this deep and scalding dig through the past but he could agree there: Rebecca did not deserve any sort of physical punishment. Even the few times Father had slapped him would have been enough to turn him off of the idea but this cemented it. And if you were willing to hit someone you were supposed to love and protect, then what else could you be capable of?

  


Draco shivered involuntarily. 

  


“Well, the good news is is that it’s almost over with, then it’s just the trial and moving into the new place. Which reminds me, John and Liza and Cathleen should be here any minute.” It was still astonishing how preternatural Harry was at timing, for then the doorbell rang, which only made him laugh. “Right on time.”

  


Draco rolled his eyes, “Of course.” He could feel the corners of his mouth tugging up nonetheless.

  


“Guess that comes with being Master of Death,” he wiggled his fingers spookily, before laughing again and going to the door. Draco’s smile dropped as he followed him to the door, seeing the three again and feeling the cup of tea churn internally.

  


_Showtime._

  


* * *

  


Their tour of the Pimlico property went off without a hitch. There was a few small comments on the decor—he could handle those as they were more surprised that he didn’t recreate the dungeons of Hogwarts there. Or recreate the Manor, he supposed, with all of its Stuart era trappings and art (softened by the influx of art his great grandfather had purchased all the way through the Regency era) though how they probably thought it looked matched more of a dungeon and less of an estate that it was.

  


Sometimes he missed how easy it was to hide away in the manor. The 90 or so square meters here didn’t leave much in the way of hiding.

  


Overall, they seemed to pass with flying colors. Even John had cracked a smile at their shared office, with their books and files and the art prints from Luna. _Decidedly a victory._

  


But now they were in the decidedly bare place in Camden, the muggle realtor assured that the three of them were interior decorators and they were left alone to explore. 

  


Unlike the flat in Pimlico, lived in with their styles so thoroughly merged, the place in Camden was stark, almost like the first time Draco had been to Harry’s and looked at the plain off white of recently sold. It didn’t seem to bother Harry, the comparison as much as it did Draco. They were restarting again and there would be a whole new issue of what to place where and how to turn the emptiness full. And navigating the styles of a child which had very different needs from a pair of adults. _Very different,_ Cathleen kept reminding him snidely as they walked through the slightly overgrown back garden.

  


The Camden place was on the first and second floors of the building (with another unit on the third and fourth floor) with private use of the small aforementioned garden, which Harry had to have. _Think of all the herbs we could grow,_ he’d said with a brilliant smile, the one he loved, _Rebecca would love it._ And his own smile had dimmed. Everything would be for Rebecca now. He knew it was petty but he didn’t want to share.

  


Didn’t know if he could.

  


It was also bigger than the previous place, with a kitchen attached to the dining room, then a small drawing room and a nice snug or den they were going to convert into an office for the pair of them. It had nicely built in bookshelves that would be perfect for their books and their files. _And Rebecca’s textbooks…_ Then there was a small staircase that went up to the top floor, a bathroom that also functioned as the loo for the first story, which Rebecca would have use of, next to the plain room with a decent closet and view overlooking the garden. Their own room had a decently sized bathroom between their walk in closet (his suits really only could be hung up) and the master suite which overlooked the street. It was a nice place, very large without all the furniture.

  


“Stairs could use a looking over,” Cathleen broke him out of his thoughts, watching the stout woman test the second to last step. 

  


“We’ll make sure to fix that before we move in,” Harry said with a wide smile. Liza continued looking through the kitchen, more out of boredom. Harry had said she probably would do that. Places that were newly sold rarely had any problems and therefore were very uninteresting to her.

  


He silently follows the little group up the stairs like a ghost in his own house. They walk through the spare room. Rebecca’s soon to be room.

  


“Well, I have certainly seen worse rooms,” John states, making his notes. Draco watches him measure out the space just to check that it’s an appropriate size. Liza peeks in the empty closet and seeing nothing, jots the bare minimum on her paperwork.

  


“Hmm,” Cathleen tuts, looking right at him before marking something down. _What did I do now?_ He tries to move out of the way but he nearly bumps into Liza who huffs a small sound so he nearly steps into the way of John’s measurements of the window. _I can’t cock this up for Harry._

  


It’s so small, with five adults in it and he can’t imagine it filled with all of Rebecca’s favorite things. More and more things piling in. A whole life time. He can’t—

  


He can’t.

  
  
  


He

  
  
  


can’t

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Draco?” Harry knocks on the bathroom door, sounding a bit annoyed. “We’re going to run through the changes we’re planning downstairs. Join us soon, please.” The footsteps fade off down the stairs and Draco is staring at himself in the mirror. The sink gushing water and his own breath fogging up his image.

  


He didn’t even remember going into the bathroom. He’s not even sure what happened.

  


A few pieces of hair are out of place— _was I tugging at them?_ His chest felt tight and he could tell his heart was racing, the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

  


When had he turned the tap on?

  


He turned it off.

  


He hadn’t lost time in a while. Not since the height of the war. He forgot how exhausted he felt after, wasn’t sure he’d ever remembered feeling this awful. He fixed his hair, as best he could without his usual products. A glamor would help.

  


He pulled out his wand and cast the glamor over the one he already had for his dark circles. In the mirror, Draco looked far better and more put together now. The redness on his face faded away until he looked as he usually did. What he usually looked like before all of this. He wished he were home, for as little as it would stay home. Would the Camden place ever fill that space?

  


It didn’t feel likely. Not now at least. 

  


He’d never lost time in Pimlico. But he couldn’t stall any longer.

  


Draco Malfoy exited the bathroom and headed down the stairs to join his annoyed partner. They didn’t hold hands like they usually did, instead tying each other together like the anchor to a ship, and unlike their usual tether of warmth. They’ll probably argue about this later or just let it settle below the surface again. How much longer could he keep this corporeal form?

  


He wasn’t sure.

  


* * *

  


Harry Potter was trying not to be upset with Draco. He knew this was hard. He saw, every week, family’s struggling with being ripped apart. The urge to become whole again so strong and human that it was practically a base need.

  


With this process, it had to be all smiles and sunshine and happiness, so they wouldn’t give up a single step in this fight. Not with Rebecca counting on him. Liza and John hadn’t said that Lorraine’s house was horrible, it had already passed inspection. It just wasn’t very…friendly, they had said. Ornate and beautiful but a cage all the same. And he hated the idea of such a bright young girl being dimmed.

  


He missed those simple days in Belfast, at times. Learning about Bex’s life—her love of cats, her desire to be a quidditch player and a teacher _and_ a mom, because she missed her own but she still wanted to do cool things. Molly would love to spoil her. That she was endlessly empathetic, always helping out the nuns at the ministry, and smart, loving maths and sums just as he did at her age. She liked to help count stock with the mediwitches, helping them out when she could be underfoot, something Hermione would latch onto and have her sorting paperwork when they have to clear the table at her and Ron’s place to have dinner. That she loved beer bread with butter right from the oven, but that her Da hadn’t made it very often. He wanted her to have it all and he wanted to learn all she would give him.

  


He missed her as much as Draco did, perhaps even more. Something in him called to her, a protective and fierce part he knew was family, in the way that that part had called to Ron and Hermione, and to Sirius and to Remus and Tonks and now to Teddy. _Family._ A word that scared and shook him and made him breathless all the same. He could have this. _They_ could have this.

  


Draco nodded to some thing that Cath was saying, looking distant and blank. He was certain he was just as nervous as Harry was and he was definitely using a glamor. Only Harry could really recognize the look.

  


_Soon,_ he thought, trying to send a calming presence out. _Soon they would all be together and it would be fine._

  


This part of the journey was terrifying, the leaping forward. He’d read about the pains that couples went through with the adoption process in the muggle world, never mind the additional troubles of being a same sex couple trying to adopt and add on the problems of being part of the wizarding community.

  


But it would be okay. They just had to get through this and it would settle back into normalcy.

  


He just had to be strong and keep Draco with him, like the moon drawing the tide back to her. That’s all they needed.

  


It had to be okay, because they were together. Soon to be all together.

  


Almost all together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All readers should know that this story and this author do NOT condone the ideas expressed by Jo or by TERFs in general. If you support those things, this is not the story or writer for you and you should just close this out. Any and all characters in HP and beyond could be trans and that is totally acceptable and encouraged. Trans men are men and trans women are women and non-binary people are just as valid as everyone else. I would strongly recommend reading and supporting any of the wonderful and well written stories featuring trans HP characters here on the Archive, I know there’s been lists and links circling around on tumblr the past couple of days, so please give your support in any way you can.  
> This was one of the hardest chapters for me to write, a lot of it being me suffering from some writer’s block and some backsliding in my own personal headspace. Writing this helps though, so here’s an extra large chapter to make up for it.  
> And though this is rough, I always think back to John Darnielle’s tweet threads on the song “This Year”. A yearly [benediction](https://twitter.com/mountain_goats/status/1079938420556918784) that I wholeheartedly love. For all the sadness that is in here, just think of [“This Year”.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ii6kJaGiRaI)  
> Happy July-is-the-month-of-national-holidays-and-revolutions!  
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright  
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
>   3. [Beat Down - Mister Heavenly](https://youtu.be/y7vEpBjsNh4)
>   4. [Come on Eileen - Save Ferris](https://youtu.be/HCzWPBR30Nk)
>   5. [Tenderness - General Public](https://youtu.be/6XegL32Btzs)
>   6. [Water Flow - Klyne](https://youtu.be/XkqlTk-YjHo)
>   7. [Amerika - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/8P1utNegyt4)
>   8. [Fuckabout - Drenge](https://youtu.be/uEZ7EFJaO_8)
>   9. [Medusa in Chains - The Fratellis](https://youtu.be/nQH-kGItVqQ)
>   10. [Babes - Hockey Dad](https://youtu.be/2_n0cQasdt8)
>   11. *[Bad Spanish - Nervous Dater](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCjlfja9Wws)* 
>   12. *[Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qv3-vANWwcU)* 
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


	7. Chapter 7

It had been months now since all of this had started. The sunny day in Belfast. The small girl in Harry’s arms.

  


A fever dream, a diversion from their usual. And it had turned into something more. 

  


In all honesty, Draco blames himself. He hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t gotten up the courage to contradict Harry. He’d instead drifted behind the man like a ghost, darkening his doorway and foiling his simple story. The Outcast. The Other. 

  


(The sick irony was not lost on him.)

  


Now it might tear them apart.

  


Draco felt the awful churning feeling, the anxious twist every moment of _every_ moment of _every_ day, it felt like. Then there was the stressful visions when he slept—never quite a nightmare and never quite a dream. Just the same feeling compounded in the dark. Alone, only seeing flashes of other people, other moments, other feelings before the dark loneliness was back.

  


The need to run and the need to burrow. The need to hide and the need to fight. Oscillations as common to him now as the turning of the earth. 

  


It really was a simple question, to Draco at least: “How far are you going to go with this, Harry?”

  


The Telly had been turned off and it was raining, making their moods sour. A hot summer storm filled with lightning that made both of them jump and the flat rattle. Another day of delay—Loreen had filed another motion on the location. Another day of waiting. Another day off work and stuck, listless in their home as Cynthia and Thomas decided to continue ironing out the plan. They hadn’t dropped the case yet, even though the interview transcripts had been delivered and digested. Draco would have only be upset at them for abandoning Harry.

  


“What?” Even Harry, genial and kind Harry, his own tone was testy. The voice in his head was advising him to back off but he couldn’t hear it over the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

  


“I want to know how far are you going to go with this— we don’t even know if the courts will allow it,” he said again, volume rising past polite to firm as he sat up straight in his chair, a sharp contrast to the man across from him, who seemed to lounge more upon the couch. Insolent and uncaring of Draco’s own opinions on the matter it seemed.

  


“I would do _anything_ for Rebecca,” it sounded like an accusation, “ _You_ of all people should know that.”

  


“What’s that supposed to imply?” Now Harry was sitting up, staring at him. Glaring even, in the dim light. It made him nostalgic in a twisted way. _It used to be simple, not having to care about why and only what_ / 

  


“Since this whole thing started, you’ve been so distant and unsupportive—”

  


“—Unsupportive?! Harry, you launched right into this without even asking my opinion.”

  


“I had to do something! She was going to be taken away!”

  


“Into danger or away from you?”

  


“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Harry mocked him, picking at the pain in his heart, just where he knew it would be.

  


“Are you more upset that someone tried to take her away from _you_ or was she _actually_ in danger? Because from where I see it, you’re just upset you couldn’t have her!” Draco exploded, hurt and aching phantom pains in his chest, where magic had cut him open. When had they both stood up?

  


“What is your problem with this? Why now?” Harry accused, playing his part perfectly, as if things hadn’t even changed, “Do you know how much time and my money I’ve spent on this?” _Slash._

  


“You never _asked_ me, that’s my problem. You just dragged me along with your inane plan! I never wanted children!” Harry looked as if he had slapped him. He knew all of his sensitive spots as well and as much as he knew he didn’t want to, he felt the devilish validation of the pain he was causing. To make one hurt as much as he did, an utterly human thought, forgoing magic entirely. Just as a muggle would.

  


“Why— why would you say that? You love Rebecca as much as I do—” He could feel the carefully constructed view that Harry had fall apart before him, watching the blocks tumble out of place. 

  


“I don’t— _You_ told yourself I did—“

  


“Stop lying!” They were in each other’s faces now and he felt 16 again and out of control of his emotions. He could smell stagnant water and hear dripping even though they were in the drawing room. But at least he felt alive. No longer a ghost, a poltergeist.

  


“I’m not lying! You dragged me into this and I...” he paused. “I hate this! This was supposed to _our_ house, _our_ home, _our_ relationship. That was what we promised. And now you’re bringing her into it!” Harry looked hurt. He wondered if he hated and enjoyed causing pain as much as Draco was.

  


“But she needed us! She was alone and she needed us!”

  


“She’s not _you_ Harry! Gods, you think every child is you—” he stumbled over his next words, seeing the color drain from Harry’s face. “S-She would have been fine without us.” He swallowed hard, copying the Boy Who Lived’s gesture. Lived. Survived. _What was better?_ was a question he had once asked himself.

  


“We don’t know that,” he quibbled, Harry’s words coming out in one breath, “Who _knows_ what that woman would do.” He remembered how it was and how it is. It was awful, to see the difference in their days become muted and desaturated and quiet. But this, this was at least alive.

  


“Yes, we very likely do—Loreen passed her home study just as we did—”

  


“We don’t—”

  


“She can provide adequate schooling just as we can—”

  


“We don’t—”

  


“And she cleared her background checks better than we did!” Harry clamped his mouth shut, _clearly very aware of what people thought of me,_ trying to disengage from this, trying to hide, trying to make himself as small as possible, but Draco wouldn’t let him, grabbing his arm, a mirror image. How many times had they been in this position? No one was keeping count. “Face it, Harry Potter, we’re not her best choice. And you won’t accept that.” He wanted him to admit it, he wanted him to acknowledge what he was. A monster in man’s clothing.

  


He watched as Harry hardened in front of him, his eyes no longer friendly and loving, stuck in this mire. _Why did I do this?_

  


“Let me go.” Draco didn’t. “Let me go or I swear to God I will curse you and send you flying.” He didn’t, gray eyes challenging him to do it. “Draco, you pure blood tosser, let me go right now or I’ll—”

  


“Put me in jail with the rest of them? Leave me?” He tried to sound haughty but it was harder and harder to call it forth. Hated the part of Draco Malfoy that still craved punishment for his transgressions. The part that still lost it whenever he stepped into parts of the Ministry or saw curses that were just a bit too viscous. 

  


“Maybe I will. Maybe I will... God, you’re so arrogant— Maybe this is the better option, after all together we didn’t sail through the background check. Together. Separately yes but together no. And if you’re going to talk about children that way, like they’re property and something to put a name on just as _your_ father did—” 

  


He nearly slapped him, it was so near a thing and he wondered how they’d gotten here. Only the sight of Harry flinching, pure panic in his eyes had shocked them apart.

  


His hands trembled with unspoken things—the ghost he was twisting into a poltergeist, with pain and agony fueling the change, wringing out every _raw_ emotion until all there was was pain. What would be do next? Fling things from the shelves? Break crockery? Hurt people as they tried to flee? _Hurt Harry to ward him off me?_

  


For all of his talk, his penance, has he even changed? 

  


_When had this all happened?_ He stared at the ghost of Harry across from him, breathing just as heavily and probably thinking just the same things as he was. _Though likely, even worse things._ Did he see what Draco was afraid of when he looked at him, all covered in glamours and finely tailored clothes, pale and sneering? When he’d thought of the future, he’d imagined that one day they’d die together but never as enemies. Not then and not now and yet they were twisting into violent, painful creatures. 

  


_Maybe the light was the real diversion..._

  


Now why were they together, when the anger and hatred boiled up so easily, when harsh words were so common, when everything was falling apart, how were they even together? He could have left at any time, just picked up his things and gone, but having Harry, even when they were spitting angry, was better than not.

  


_“No man chooses evil because it is evil;”_ his mind whispered to him, the ache in his heart compounding, _“He only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.”_

  


Was it worth it? _Was he worth it?_ He couldn’t help but ask himself miserably. Was all of this worth it, in the end? When they started, the point of this was to be friends first, then so easy, now so hard. Fighting each other when the enemies outside were too great, where you knew the other’s soft and sensitive areas, was so easy. Easy enough that it was nearly gut instinct. To hold love in your hands and choose to squeeze. When all bets were off, there was nothing sacred between them. Each side damaged in a bloodless war. Over and over the same actions and fights all boiling into one unending conflict.

  


So why even fight? Why not end it? Why not stop staring into Harry’s eyes and just walk away? Send a letter and call it done. _Because then it_ would _be truly done._

  


“You were going to hit me.” Harry seemed to be unable to stop staring as well, his voice small and scared. It was statements now, the ebbing of the tidal flow that had caused the destruction, pulling away to see the damage caused this time. Green on gray. His brain seemed to be misfiring, the last embers of life dying out, trying to make meaning of the stimulus. 

  


It was time to lay it all bare. Fighting wasn’t worth the cost, especially the cost of Harry. 

  


“I was.”

  


Harry didn’t look away but his shoulders sagged, his whole body cut from the puppeteer strings holding him up. He looked older than his age. Draco could only imagine he looked as bad, pale and filled with discomfort. He felt like throwing up, knowing that he’d done that, like a hangover, sour and sober. That he’d said those things.

  


“Do you want to give up?” It was a loaded question. Why had he asked it.

  


“On what?” Harry seemed to be following his motions, a somber waltz of unsaid things that was common now. He wondered if this is what had happened to his parents. They’d probably fight again.

  


“This. Us.” He’d remembered, years ago, when he’d withdrawn from Harry, to stop this before it’d even begun, that he’d started tracking their lasts, marking each one as if counting graves. Once they had truly started up, he’d stopped doing so. Now it would seem he would need to return to it.

  


“Do you?” Harry watched him as closely as he was watching him. Who would blink first?

  


The silence in the flat was deafening, as if they could see the physical destruction around them had scattered all life from it. Stop all the clocks, stop the barking of the dogs and stop even the turn of the earth itself. They stood at this precipice, both knowing there was no good ahead.

  


What should be said?

  


How does one say: ‘I miss you and that’s why I wanted to hurt you.’ ‘I was scared so I hurt the people I cared about.’ ‘I wanted to run but I couldn’t leave you, so I took it out on you.’ 

  


He almost laughed at himself. The words were always there. He was just too cowardly to use them. 

  


There were no excuses for such childish behavior, because it _was_ childish. He was a grown man, a man who had survived a war. And instead of facing the fear together, he’d torn them apart in some misaligned idea to keep them safe. _Himself_ safe, he corrected. He’d only been thinking of himself. 

  


As always, his brain answered before his mind could catch up, operating on some primal instinct.

  


“No. Never.” Even fighting, it was somehow better than the alternative. He hoped Harry understood that. It meant there was time, even a little, to be together.

  


“Me neither.” Harry swallowed, hard, around the lump in his throat. “We should talk, though, because…” He trailed off, the wetness in the corners of his eyes transmuting into tears, “Because I don’t want this to be our together.”

  


If Harry was the puppet with cut strings and Draco was a ghost, all the air and fight went out of him at that. His heart ached, not at the fighting but because they had caused so much hurt to one another.

  


“I don’t either,” Draco said, as weary as he felt, with nothing left but the fight between them, the only thing holding him up. His mother had once said that his temper could be a great driver. He just hadn’t realized how well it would work. “Harry,” he swallowed again, “I don’t want to hurt you—Merlin, I never _want_ to hurt you...” Bile rolled in his stomach as he realized how close he’d been to all the people who had hurt the Boy Who Lived. How he’d almost thrown it all away to win a stupid fight in an effort to protect himself from the one person who wouldn’t hurt him. 

  


Harry fell into him, warm and solid and feeling so much of home that if he weren’t crying before, he was now, “I know, Draco, I know,” he inhaled unsteadily, the sound right by Draco’s ear, “It’s just all so fucked.”

  


Draco croaked our a wet laugh, his arms holding Harry tightly. Somehow it felt better, knowing he was just as angry as he was. That it all wasn’t some genial mask worn by the Chosen One.

  


“I don’t want to lose you either,” he said after the longest pause, feeling the hot wet heat of Harry’s teardrops on his shoulder soak into his shirt. Harry never made sound when he cried. He never had to wonder why. “I’m in love with you, even after all the things I said. Gods, I— I don’t know why I did it. But I’m still in love with you. I think I might always be.”

  


Harry sucked in a shaky breath. “I love you too I—“ he hesitated, “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, Rebecca...”

  


“You were only doing what you thought was right—“

  


“Yeah, Bloody Saint Potter, _I know_.”

  


“No, Harry, you _don’t_.” He pulled Harry of him so he could look him in his eyes, “I was scared alright? You might have loads of training in how to handle children but I...” he swallowed thickly, unable to break eye contact with Harry, “I didn’t even know if I wanted children. I wanted the whole bloody line to end with me.”

  


“Draco—“

  


“Let me finish!” Then more gently, “Please let me finish...”

  


Harry nodded, his eyes big and irritated and green in front of him, the scar, a pale mark against darker skin, peeking from under his hair. He deserved the world, but honesty would be a good start.

  


“I was scared because… I do love her, I want to protect her and watch her grow but... but I know that that’s lessened if she’s with me. That she’ll be bullied because of me, that my name will follow her around like a dark cloud and I... I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to hear it in a courtroom for hours. I didn’t want her to hear it, the _why_. I’m not strong like you are... I’m just not...” Draco broke eye contact, hanging his head in shame.

  


Harry surged forward, hugging him so tightly, “Draco, I know it’s hard. I’m scared too.” He sharply inhaled, a motion he could feel through the hug. “I know, love, I’m terrified they’re going to drag up everything. And raising a child… That’s something I never learned, never knew what was right. And I’m not strong at all. I spend 10 minutes every day in the loo trying not to break down because I’m scared and you... just seeing you makes me strong. Because to me, you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever known…”

  


“Harry...” 

  


“I mean it.” And he did. He knew all the horrible things he’d done, by his testimony and by his own admission, in privacy. Yet he was still here. And maybe that was enough, when things were hard. To be known. To have the entirety of your crimes laid bare and still be acknowledged as a person.

  


“And I...” Draco started again, talking around the sobs that wanted to escape, “I can’t believe I said those things to you, I was just so angry and I wanted you to feel as bad as I did— it was so wrong. I... There’s no way that’s forgivable.” _Aiding and Abetting_. That’s what he did yet again, even if he didn’t commit the crime, he’d spurred on the horridness within him. “I’m sorry. I’m a piece of shit. I’m so sorry.” His breath hitched as he tried to keep the panic from taking over. Two people could be in love and still break apart. Mother and Father might have ended that way and now Draco was just repeating history, the way he’d never intended. The Malfoy name was for power, not for love.

  


“I will make that choice, love, that’s on me. I said terrible things as well.”

  


“And used a terrible insult, just in quality alone.” Harry gave a wet laugh at his rotten mouth, giving responses just to give them.

  


“Deflection aside,” because that had been what he was doing, the entire time, “We’re going to have to work through all of this. Because we haven’t even gotten to the testimony of the trial and I want... I want this to be something we either do together or not at all. As much as I love Rebecca, I can’t lose you in the process.” There it was. The fear out in the open. Somehow, Harry was still the only one who understood it, even after all the deception and the lying by omission. He didn’t know how he could be so lucky to be so in love and so _stupid_ to try and ruin it all the same. 

  


Maybe the ghost was only a passing thing, a near death experience and perhaps the fire within him wasn’t gone yet. Harry looked so brave and wonderful in front of him, even with all sorts of tears and mess on face, quietly brave even though he could feel him trembling under his hands. Love and bravery—two things he scarcely knew the depths of and yet here they were. 

  


“Do you need me?” The words tumbled out, tripping over themselves as they stood there, lightning flashing. He had to know.

  


“Yes, of course,” Harry said, as easy as anything, as firm as he was in that this was right. _Merlin, I love him_. “Do you need me?”

  


“Every day.” And it was true. He would survive through anything at this rate, perhaps even the solicitors, but it wouldn’t be living. Not without Harry. Harry who made him feel as if he were loving and brave and wonderful, even when he was not. “You… Life is better with you in it.”

  


“I was so scared of losing you—“

  


“I was too—I couldn’t either,” Draco admits, his equally trembling hands scrambling for purchase on Harry’s jumper as he kisses the corner of his mouth, adrenaline making him a jittering mess, jumping from one high to another, “Gods, Harry, you keep me sane. I need you as much as you need me, I shouldn’t have—” 

  


“We both shouldn’t have,” Harry kissed him properly and hard, fat drops of rain rattling the windows, the summer storm finally broken. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, after we—”

  


“Yes.” 

  


And there was no talking after that.

  


* * *

  


The next day, they both took their Saturday to walk through the neighborhood, looking at the houses there as they talked. 

  


“Pansy once told me this thing about people,” he told Harry as they took the less busy streets, already filled with mother’s and children doing the shopping, “About how they find each other?”

  


“Oh?” Harry and he kept up a brisk pace—nothing like with he Americans, where they were practically lightly jogging after them. But enough of one where they wouldn’t get bowled over by the people with places to be.

  


“Yes, I think it was about that. That some people will orbit around each other, in perfect circles, even if they want to leave it.”

  


There was silence, as they both walked past a shop opening up for the day, the loud metal grating being pushed up by a thin Chinese woman and releasing the smell of fresh cut flowers spilling onto the sidewalk.

  


“Seems like something she would say,” Harry started, “I wonder if it’s true.”

  


“I don’t think Pansy is actually much of a seer, well, a good enough one for muggle purposes,” Draco stated plainly. Her Divination scores had been worse than his but in true Slytherin fashion, she was excellent at reading people, particularly one on one.

  


“But it could still be true, in a sense,” Harry added, as they walked around a waiter setting up tables for an outdoor cafe, “I mean look at us…”

  


They waited at a light for a second before dashing across together, without having to even think about what the other was going to do.

  


“It _could_ be true,” Draco agreed as they paused on the other side of the street, looking up the endless avenues, not yet filled with cars. “Would you want it to be?”

  


“To be stuck in an endless perfect circle with you?” Draco looked at him, the perpetual thinness of his face, the crackling silvered scar against his warm sepia skin, the dark hair in a haphazard, the kindness of his smile, the brilliant and emotive green of his eyes. He wondered what Harry saw in him, if he saw Draco in the same way, with his pale skin and flushed cheeks, almost always a certainty when Harry was around, the cool grey of his eyes and the more delicate arch of his brows, the slant of his nose, with just the faintest bump that said it had been broken, the ashy blond color of his hair, and how it would get more yellow in the summer sun. “I think I could handle that.”

  


Harry laughed, but not in a mocking way, in the breathless sort of happy way, where he made Draco feel like he was a hero for being a part of it, for causing that bit of joy. “I could handle it too,” he told him, quickly kissing his cheek before tugging him along, heading up the street.

  


“Do you know why I tell you that you’re brave?” They were at the park by the palace, the one with the big reflecting pond that he’d never been able to remember the name of, Hide or something, having already walked all the way past the other underground station near their neighborhood. There weren’t many muggles out at this hour and those that were were jogging or older, sitting at the benches. Already there was one woman reading on a blanket catching the first unfiltered rays of sunlight on the great open lawn. Someone once told him, he thinks it might have been Blaise of all people, that it was originally a hunting ground and that at one point an elaborate crystal palace had been erected there. But now instead it was a park and a man in fluorescent spandex rode past them on his bicycle.

  


“No,” Draco admitted, avoiding looking at him, “I don’t.”

  


“It’s because of all you’ve done,” Harry said, without malice or preamble, “At any point, you could have just denied it or lied or fucked off somewhere with your money. But you told your story, all the bad bits included.” He let out a long breath, hand sliding into Draco’s like it belonged there. “I don’t know if I could have done that.”

  


“Not a lot of good came from that,” he replied, as they sat on the edge of the big memorial, the one for the Princess, their _very_ adult knees knocking together. He remembered introducing himself when they were children at the entrance to the Great Hall. “At least it never feels like that.” Harry was silent, silent, he realizes because he wants him to continue.

  


“One day, Rebecca, should we gain custody, she’s going to want to know _why._ And that might make her want to leave.”

  


“And it might make her want to stay even more, to know all the parts of you that you don’t hide,” Harry told him, “At least the parts you don’t want people you love to know,” he added. Draco felt relief wash in, for that was exactly why. “I feel the same way.”

  


“Really? All sorts of skeletons in your closet you haven’t told me about?” Harry gave a chuckle, leaning into him. It wasn’t cold by any standards, but the warmth seeping through their contact felt soothing, familiar. Like whiskey in a poorly named pub.

  


“What I did, what I was bred to do, that’s a lot for a child to live up to… When I was in first year, I found a trophy in a case for my father.”

  


“Right, during detention,” Draco responded, he’d heard the story in bits and pieces over the year, the first small connection to his deceased family. 

  


“Yeah, and it was wonderful to know even that about my dad, but at the same time… I felt as if I didn’t do well in Quidditch or didn’t love it enough, I was letting him down.”

  


“Oh.” He knew that feeling.

  


“Yeah,” the reddish-brown skinned man next to him sighed, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder, “Now imagine that, but if your father had defeated the Britain’s worst dark wizard _twice_. What sort of standards you would impose on that child.”

  


“Bloody awful.”

  


“Right?”

  


They were quiet for a moment.

  


“I think,” Draco started, “I think this is why we’re supposed to do this together or not at all,” he licked his lips, tasting the scent of rain boiling off the pavement in the growing heat of the summer, “Because my fear is that she’ll have to spend her whole life proving I haven’t gotten too much influence on her. And yours seems to be that she’s gotten too much of your influence on her.”

  


“A bit of a packaged deal,” Harry mused.

  


“Yes, seems to be so.”

  


Harry added: “A very small order, I should think, solving the problems of the world in one girl.” Draco couldn’t help but laugh, the Chosen One voice always got to him.

  


“Seem familiar?”

  


“Uncanny.”

  


They watched as a group of Girl Guides, which Harry had pointed out to him previously, made their way across the green for some sort of field exercise. _Maybe Rebecca liked the outdoors._

  


“Do you think Rebecca likes the outdoors?” It was the first question he’d asked about her.

  


“Hmm, I don’t actually know” Harry admitted, almost as if it were shameful to not know.

  


“We’ll have to ask her then,” Draco said, “You know, attempt to use our words instead of trying to just, I don’t know, internalize everything on our own.” He didn’t have the astute, learned language the Harry had for this sort of thing.

  


“We will,” he agreed, kissing their clasped hands, “We’ll set a better example of how to communicate.”

  


“Together,” Draco agreed.

  


“Together.”

  


Both of them felt ravenous then—as if they had each woken from a long sleep and needed something to fill them, something other than the aching feelings that had plagued them. Like waking up from flu—the fever abated and the appetite returned and the body seemed to right itself, just like magic.

  


It felt like they had stuffed a whole month’s of conversation—fears, doubts, shame and trust in spades. They talked all through breakfast (which was at their favorite place by the park, the little cafe that sat across from it and had plenty of space between its tables) and with the tourist crowd busy tucking in, they were undisturbed. It was these moments that Draco relished, and realized that Harry did as well. They were just two men sitting and eating and being entirely themselves, away from their histories and their foibles. 

  


This wouldn’t be the last they would talk on it either. No, this was a turning point. Despite the horrid pleasure he took in hurting Harry in their fight, admitting to vomiting in the ministry bathroom, the very one that apparently Harry had also vomited in fifteen minutes into his testimony, was better. It was knowing another person so deeply and truly, despite the consequences. To be known and know in turn.

  


To love, in all of its parts, good and bad and tiring and fierce and dismal and joyous and still work at it. 

  


That was a lesson worth passing on to Rebecca. A lesson _they_ could teach. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote about evil is from Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus_. There’s also an oblique reference to _Stop All the Clocks_ by W. H. Auden. But we all know that despite this, Draco is more of a John Donne fan lbr.  
> Heavy reliance on “Like a Staring Contest” from the soundtrack below here, because gosh, some great lines and perfect for this heavy chapter. Mostly because sometimes you fight with someone just so it’s not over. So totally not healthy but it’s been a rough time.  
> “And we're standing in the hallway
> 
> Both resolved to finally do this
> 
> We each have our guns drawn
> 
> But neither of us wants to shoot first
> 
> We could stay like this forever
> 
> We could stay like this and never leave…”  
> That said, New Order is probably still going to be one of my fav bands of all time, with a bonus for the whole messed up love thing. Additional bonus because the scene from Marie Antoinette where they’re [playing this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-rzP7xdibk) as the sun rises is truly poetic cinematography.  
> “Oh, I’ll break them down, no mercy shown
> 
> Heaven knows, it’s got to be this time
> 
> Watching her, these things she said
> 
> The times she cried
> 
> Too frail to wake this time…”  
> Conclusion: just talk to people. Don’t bottle it up.  
> Tumblr: we-re-always-alright  
> Songs for this Story:
> 
>   1. [Heat of the Summer - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/GehRsHpg84c)
>   2. [Good Times - Matt Duncan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABSYG5w00So)
>   3. [Beat Down - Mister Heavenly](https://youtu.be/y7vEpBjsNh4)
>   4. [Come on Eileen - Save Ferris](https://youtu.be/HCzWPBR30Nk)
>   5. [Tenderness - General Public](https://youtu.be/6XegL32Btzs)
>   6. [Water Flow - Klyne](https://youtu.be/XkqlTk-YjHo)
>   7. [Amerika - Young the Giant](https://youtu.be/8P1utNegyt4)
>   8. [Fuckabout - Drenge](https://youtu.be/uEZ7EFJaO_8)
>   9. [Medusa in Chains - The Fratellis](https://youtu.be/nQH-kGItVqQ)
>   10. [Babes - Hockey Dad](https://youtu.be/2_n0cQasdt8)
>   11. [Bad Spanish - Nervous Dater](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCjlfja9Wws)
>   12. [Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qv3-vANWwcU)
>   13. *[Like a Staring Contest - The Future Kings of Nowhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOpRciz6fLA)* 
>   14. *[Ceremony - New Order](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5UK40sSo8I)* 
> 

> 
>   
>  [Full playlist link (may contain spoilers)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5DznL3t0FgCXixh4bkfs3E?si=WUPzXXKWRxqzvkVmcu-xXQ)


End file.
